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POEMS. 



j BY 

HENEY HAEBAUGH, 

AUTHOE OF "the sainted DEAD," "HEAVENLY RECOGNITION," 
"HEAVENLY HOME," "BIEDS OF THE BIBLE," ETC. ETC. 



■*#^ 



PHILADELPHIA : 
LINDSAY & BLAKISTON 

1860. 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by 
LINDSAY & BLAKISTON, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 

STEEEOTTPED BY J. FAGAN, PHTLADELPHU. 



CONTENTS. 



Poems. 

Page 

The Mystic Weaver - 13 

Neander's Dying Words 21 

Through Death to Life 24 

Heavenly Eecognition 29 

Conestoga , 32 

That Aged Elm 35 

Roses ! Roses ! 45 

Here are the Dead!.. 49 

1* (v) 



VI CONTENTS. 

Poems. 

To Emmie 62 

The Cross 55 

Birds 57 

The Ruins of Nineveh , 61 

The Old and the New 65 

The Song of the Autumn Wind 67 

New Tear's Eve 70 

The March of Empire 78 

The Sill beneath the Door 82 

Gethsemene 85 

The Rain 91 

Laura Amanda's Grave 94 

The Soul's Aspirations 96 

Death in a Ball-Room 99 

The Song of the Autumn Rain , 105 

Faith, Hennie ! 107 

The Gate to the Land of the Blest 110 



CONTENTS. VU 

Poems. 

Away and Away ! 113 

The Spirit's Eventide 115 

Death of the Pastor's Wife 117 

Hidden Toil 122 

The Water-Lily 125 

The Power of Love , 130 

The Swan 136 

The Vampire Sin 138 

The Twin Fishers 140 

Winter and the Grave 148 

Christ the Loveliest 150 

Behold the Man !.. 152 

Tolling! Tolling! 155 

Speak Gently 157 

Our School-Boy Days 160 

Joy 162 

Matins and Vespers , 164 



viil CONTENTS. 

Poems. 

Dying 166 

May is Coming 168 

Our Saviour's Advent 171 

Oh! Value the Hour as it Hasteth ! 174 

New Year's Midnight 176 

The Song of the Trees 179 

The Ostrich 184 

The Two Prophets 186 

The Swallows 188 

A Confirmation Hymn 191 

Hymn 194 

The Bright Land 196 

A Bud 200 

The Summer Visit 202 

Great Effects from Little Causes 205 

Cold Distance 208 

Pious Friends 210 



CONTENTS. IX 

Poems. 

Birds of Prey prohibited as Food 211 

The Good Stork 213 

The Poor Drunkard 215 

Dedication for an Album 217 

Stanzas 219 

Epilogue. 221 

The Intermediate Abode 229 

Remembrance of Earth in Heaven 230 

The Crisis 232 

Smoking Spiritualized 234 

Fire at Hamburg, and the Old Bell-Player .".... 240 

The Hiding Place 252 

To Anna 254 

Elegy on the Death of a Classmate 250 

Child's Christmas Hymn 261 

The Song of the Rill 264 



X CONTENTS. 

Translations. 

Hymn of Beneventura 269 

The Lord's Prayer 273 

The Eagle 277 

Our Native Land 280 

At the Grave of my Father 282 

The Grave giveth Rest 284 



POEMS. 



(11) 



POEMS. 



THE MYSTIC WEAVER, 

I. 

At his loom tlie weaver sitting 
Throws his shuttle to and fro; 

Foot and treadle, 

Hands and pedal, 

Upward, downward, 

Hither, thither, 

How the weaver makes them go ! 

As the weaver wills they go. 

Up and down the warp is plying. 

And across the woof is flying; 

2 (13) 



14 POEMS. 

What a rattling, 

"What a battling, 

What a shuffling, 

What a scuffling. 
As the weaver makes his shuttle, 
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle. 

Threads in single. 
Threads in double; 

How they mingle. 
What a trouble ! 

Every color — 
What profusion ! 

Every motion — 
What confusion ! 
Whilst the warp and woof are mingling. 
Signal bells above are jingling, 
Telling how each figure ranges, 
Telling when the color changes, 
As the weaver makes his shuttle 
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle. 



THE MYSTIC WEAVER. 15 

II. 

At his loom the weaver sitting 

Throws his shuttle to and fro; 
'Mid the noise and wild confusion, 
Well the weaver seems to know, 
As he makes his shuttle go, 
"What each motion — 
And commotion, 
What each fusion — 
And confusion, 

In the grand result will show: 
Weaving daily, 
Singing gaily. 

As he makes his busy shuttle, 
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle. 

III. 

At his loom the weaver sitting 

Throws his shuttle to and fro; 
See you not how shape and order 



16 POEMS. 

From the wild confusion grow, 
As lie makes his shuttle go? 
As the warp and woof diminish, 
Grows behind the beauteous finish : 
Tufted plaidings. 
Shapes and shadings; 
All the mystery 
Now is history; 
And we see the reason subtle 
Why the weaver makes his shuttle. 
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle. 

IV. 

See the Mystic Weaver sitting 

High in heaven — His loom below. 
Up and down the treadles go : 
Takes for warp the world's long ages. 
Takes for woof its kings and sages, 
Takes the nobles and their pages. 
Takes all stations and all stages. 



THE MYSTIC WEAVER. IT 

Thrones are bobbins in His shuttle; 
Armies make them scud and scuttle. 
"Woof into the warp must flow ; 
Up and down the nations go; 
As the Weaver wills they go. 
Men are sparring, 
Powers are jarring, 
Upward, downward, 
Hither, thither, 
See how strange the nations go. 
Just like puppets in a show. 
Up and down the warp is plying. 
And across the woof is flying, 
What a rattling. 
What a battling, 
What a shuffling. 
What a scuffling. 
As the Weaver makes His shuttle, 
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle. 
2* B 



18 POEMS. 



V. 



Calmly see the Mystic "Weaver 

Throw His shuttle to and fro; 
'Mid the noise and wild confusion, 
"Well the Weaver seems to know 
What each motion — 
And commotion, 
What each fusion — 
And confusion, 
In the grand result will show, 
As the nations. 
Kings and stations. 
Upward, downward, 
Hither, thither, ^ 

As in mystic dances, go. 

In the present all is mystery; 
In the Past 'tis beauteous History. 
O'er the mixing and the mingling, 
How the signal bells are jingling ! 



THE MYSTIC WEAVER. 19 

See you not the "Weaver leaving 
Finished work behind in weaving? 
See you not the reason subtle — 
As the warp and woof diminish, 
Changing into beauteous finish — 
Why the Weaver makes His shuttle, 
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle? 

VI. 

Griorious wonder! What a weaving! 
To the dull beyond believing ! 

Such no fabled ages know. 
Only faith can see the mystery, 
How, along the aisle of History 

Where the feet of sages go, 
Loveliest to the purest eyes, 
Grand the mystic tapet lies ! 
Soft and smooth and even-spreading, 
As if made for angels' treading; 
Tufted circles touching ever, 
Inwrought beauties fading never; 



20 POEMS. 

Every figure has its plaidings, 
Brighter form and softer shadings; 
Each illumined — what a riddle ! — 
From a Cross that gems the middle. 
'Tis a saying — some reject it — 
That its light is all reflected; 
That the tapet's hues are given 
By a Sun that shines in Heaven ! 
'Tis believed, by all believing, 
That great God Himself is weaving ! 
Bringing out the world's dark mystery 
In the light of faith and History; 
And as warp and woof diminish 
Comes the grand and glorious finish — 
When begin the golden ages, 
Long foretold by seers and sages. 



NEAFDER'S DYma WOEDS. 

" I AM TTO ARY — LET US GO HOME, MY SISTER — GOOD-NIGHT.'' 

I AM weary, 
I am weary, 

Weary of the weary way ; 
I am weary of my watching, 

Weary waiting for the day. 
Weary peering through the vapor, 

Looking for the golden land; 
Weary wandering with my taper, 

Up and down on life's dark strand; 

I am weary of my waiting, 

Weary of the weary way. 

(21) 



22 POEMS. 

Weary hearing distant music, 

Sounding from the far-ofl' plains ; 
I would have those choirs come nearer, 

I would join their blessed strains. 
Those harmonious lays, though distant, 

And but faintly, feebly heard, 
Only make earth's discords harsher; 
And my spirit, deeply stirred, 
Grows more weary, 
Weary of this long delay. 

I am weary, 
I am weary. 
Home, my sister, let us go; 
Home, the rest of all the weary. 

Wherefore do we tarry so? 
All seems now so strange around me. 
Breaking are the ties that bound me; 

I am weary, let us go. 
As behind a gauzy curtain, 



neander's dying words. 23 

Forms are passing to and fro ; 
And with smiles they beckon to me, 

Waiting, wishing me to go. 
Kow I seem to move toward them; 

Thinner grows the mystic veil ; 
Faces brighter — mnsic sweeter — spirit freer — 
Hail the triumph, sister, hail ! 
Going homeward — 
Come, my sister, come away. 

I am weary, 
O, how weary ! 
Weary of this feeble light ; 
And a glory lures me onward 

To my rest. Good night! good night! 
Earth and time are disappearing. 
Heaven's eternal joy is nearing; 
I am going — homeward going, 
Sister — Earth — 
Good night ! Good night ! 



THEOUGH DEATH TO LIFE. 

Hjlve you heard the tale of the Aloe plant, 

Away in the sunny clime ? 
By humble growth of an hundred years 

It reaches its blooming time ; 
And then a wondrous bud at its crown 

Breaks out into thousand flowers : 
This floral queen, in its blooming seen, 

Is the pride of the tropical bowers. 
But the plant to the flower is a sacrifice. 
For it blooms but once, and in blooming 

dies. 

(24) 



THROUGH DEATH TO LIPE. 25 

Have yon further heard of this Aloe plant 

That grows in the sunny clime, 
How every one of its thousand flow^ers, 

As they drop in the blooming time, 
Is an infant plant that fastens its roots 

In the place where it falls on the ground; 
And fast as they drop from the dying stem, 

Grow lively and lovely around. 
By dying it liveth a thousand-fold 
In the young that spring from the death of 
the old. 

Have you heard the tale of the Pelican, 

The Arabs' Gimel el Bahr ? 
That lives in the African solitudes, 

"Where the birds that live lonely are ? 
Have you heard how it loves its tender young, 

And cares and toils for their good ? 

It brings them water from fountains afar. 

And fishes the seas for their food. 
3 



26 POEMS. 

In famine it feeds them — what love can 

devise ! — 
The blood of its bosom, and feeding them dies ! 

Have you heard the tale they tell of the swan, 

The snow^-white bird of the lake ? 
It noiselessly floats on the silvery wave, 

It silently sits in the brake ; 
For it saves its song till the end of life. 

And then, in the soft, still even, 
'Mid the golden light of the setting snn, 

It sings as it soars into heaven ! 
And the blessed notes fall back from the skies — 
'Tis its only song, for in singing it dies. 

You have heard these tales — Shall I tell you one, 

A greater and better than all ? 
Have you heard of Him whom the heavens 
adore, 

Before whom the hosts of them fall ? 



THROUaH DEATH TO LIFE. 27 

How He left the choirs and anthems above, 
For earth in its wailings and woes, 

To suffer the shame and the pain of the 
cross, 
And die for the life of His foes ? 

Prince of the noble ! sufferer divine ! 

What sorrow and sacrifice equal to Thine ! 



Have you heard this tale — the best of them 
all — 

The tale of the Holy and True ; 
He dies, but His life, in untold souls. 

Lives on in the world anew. 
His seed prevails, and is filling the earth 

As the stars fill the skies above ; 
He taught us to yield up the love of life, 

For the sake of the life of love. 
His death is our life. His loss is our gain. 
The joy for the tear, the peace for the pain. 



28 POEMS. 

!N"ow hear these tales, ye weary and worn, 

Who for others do give up your all ; 
Our Saviour hath told you the seed that would 
grow, 

Into earth's dark bosom must fall — 
Must pass from the view and die away, 

And then will the fruit appear : 
The grain that seems lost in the earth below. 

Will return many fold in the ear. 
By death comes life, by loss comes gain, 
The joy for the tear, the peace for the pain. 



HEAVEI^fLY RECOG:t^ITIO]Sr. 

Oft weeping memory sits alone, 

Beside some grave at even, 
And calls upon the spirit flown : 
Oh say! shall those on earth our own 

Be ours again — in Heaven ? 

Amid these lone, sepulchral shades, 

To quiet slumbers given, 
Is not some lingering spirit near. 
To tell, if those divided here. 

Unite and know — in Heaven? 
3* (29) 



30 POEMS. 

Shall friends, who o'er the waste of life, 

By the same storms were driven , — 
Shall they recount, in realms of bliss, 
The fortunes and the tears of this, 
And love again — in Heaven? 

Of hearts which had on earth been one, 

By death asunder riven, 
Why does the one that has been reft 
Drag off in grief the mourner left. 

If not to meet — in Heaven ? 

The warmest love on earth is still 

Imperfect when 'tis given; 
But there's a purer clime above. 
Where perfect hearts in perfect love 

Unite ; and this — is Heaven. 

If love on earth is but "in part," 
As light and shade at even; 



HEAVENLY RECOaNITION. 31 

If sin doth plant a thorn between 
The truest hearts, there is, I ween, 
A perfect love — in Heaven. 

happy world ! glorious place ! 

Where all who are forgiven, 
Shall find their loved and lost below; 
And hearts, like meeting streams, shall fiow 

Forever one — in Heaven. 



CONESTOGA. 



Sad sighs the Autumn wind, 

Pale leaves are falling; 
Sad scenes to thoughts as sad, 

Round me are calling; 
Far west the sun descends — 

Twilio:ht is comins; — 

o o 

Deep in my spirit's ear 
Voices are humming ! 

Dry leaves around me blow, 
Dark waters murmur low, 
Ah ! 'tis thy solemn flow. 
Calm Conestoga! 

(32) 



CONESTOGA. 33 

Hither, in thoughtful mood, 

Careless I've wandered. 
Mind seeking fitted food, 
Drawn, as it pondered; 
Back to the olden days 

Memory brings me. 
And many mournful lays 
Sadly it sings me. 

Woodlands around me roar, 
Wavelets do lave the shore. 
Sing me much — sing me more, 
Conestoga! 

Here once the Indian roved 

"Wakefully, wildly! 
Looked at the maid he loved 

Tenderly, mildly ! 
Slowly, and one by one, 

Eed men have vanished; 

On, to the setting sun, 

Bed men are banished ! 
c 



34 POEMS. 

Where other waters creep, 
Where other willows weep, 
^ There do thy Indians sleep, 
Lone Couestoga ! 

Still roll these waters on. 

Still do they sing me, 
As roll these waters on 

Thus do they sing me : 
Life, like the summer leaves. 

Fades once for ever! 
Life, like this gliding stream, 
Flows backward never! 
On to the silent sea, 
On to Eternity! 
Thus sing thy scenes to me, 
Conestoga! 



THAT AGED ELM. 



"Four trees I pass not by, 
Whicli o'er our house their evening shadow threw, 
Three ash, and one of ekn. Tall trees they ■were, 
And old, and had been old a century 
Before my day. None living could say aught 
About their youth; but they were goodly trees; 
And oft I wondered, — as I sat and thought 
Beneath their summer shade, or, in the night 
Of winter, heard the spirits of the wind 
Growling among their boughs, — how they had grown 
So high, in such a rough, tempestuous place; 
And when a hapless branch, torn by the blast, 
Tell down, I mourned as if a friend had fallen." 

Pollock. 



At the curb-stone in East King Street, in the city of Lan- 
caster, stood until lately (1852) a most venerable Elm, spread- 
ing "its hundred arms to heaven." It is said to have been 
more than a century old. All loved it ; and ■when it was first 
reported that it was to be hacked down, there was a general 
remonstrance against the meditated vandalism. It is said 
that even a formal petition, signed by many ladies, was sent 
in, praying that it might be spared; but all in vain ! The 
axe was laid to its root ; and many a heart inly bled over the 
lovely ruin. There are hundreds from whose memory its 
noble image will never fade. We cast our flower upon its 
tomb! 

(35) 



36 POEMS. 

I. 

sat! where is that well-known, friendly 
Elm, 

Which by the pavement stood so many a 
year ; 

Which ruled so wide, o'er such a shady realm. 

And, stretching forth its arms, bade all ap- 
pear, — 

The young and old, — and draw more fondly 
near. 

That loved and loving Elm ! Still in my eye. 

And in my heart, like childhood's memories 
dear. 

The lovely image of that tree doth lie : 
The tree is gone, its friendly image cannot die ! 

II. 

When last I passed it by, and bowed in 

heart — 
As I am wont to do, to what is old 



THATAGEDELM. 37 

And good — I wist not of the dole and 

dart 
That would my soul transfix ! Now I 

behold 
But mournful space where its proud branches 

rolled. 
Ah me ! in such a world I, pilgrim, live, 
Where loveliest things do only stay to 

mould 
Their pictures on the heart — do only give 
What we do briefly love, but always longer 

grieve. 

III. 

Where is that elm ? Say, did a whirlwind 

dire 
Eoll on in angry black toward that spot ? 
And would the storm's fierce wrath, the 

lightning's fire. 
Though anguished prayers were made, yet 

spare it not? 
4 



38 POEMS. 

Or did foul worms, or some still fouler rot, 
Id anger sent from God, its life invade ? 
Or did His breath burn forth in anger hot. 
And has its glory in the dust been laid. 
Because those loved Him not who loved its 
generous shade ? 

IV. 

"Who razed that Elm ? 'Twas not by Him 

destroyed 
"Who bade it grow, else would I find around 
Some fragments strewed, some bolts by Him 

employed 
To hurl its proud proportions to the ground." 
"Who was it ? Ah ! he is not to be found. 
The guilty one : he stands abashed in shame ; 
The graceless deed now doth him sore con- 
found. 
'Twas thus our parents first, of fallen fame, 
Did hide themselves, and answered not when 
called by name. 



THAT AGED ELM. 39 



V. 

What hast thou done, O mercenary man ? 
Thou laidst in death what thou canst never 

wake 1 
More than one hundred years their cycles 

ran, 
Since a kind God, for children's children's 

sake. 
Began from a small sprig that Elm to make. 
He fed its roots, He warmed its buds, and 

made 
Its branches grow ; and thou didst madly take 
Thine axe, and stroke on stroke was laid 
Into its roots, e'en while it gave thee friendly 

shade ! 

VI. 

And why ? what had it done ? Forsooth, it 

grew — 
Slowly apace, as moves the tide of years — 



40 POEMS. 

It grew into thy path, and soon a few 
Small hillocks by its growing roots it rears, 
A cumbrance to thy feet ; and thy wild fears 
Its shadow poisonous deemed. foolish 

dread ! 
(Thus to the fearful heart a ghost appears.) 
Didst thou forget, it did that place o'ershade 
Ere thou wast born, and no man ever sickly 

made. ^ 

VII. 

O man ! didst never learn the Fifth Com- 
mand ? 

Could not its spirit thy rude wrath assuage ? 

Did no reproving voice within demand 

That thou shouldst halt and venerate its age? 

So old, so loved, by savage and by sage. 

Think ! those whose heads do now like sil- 
ver shine, 

Were boys, when first in it the night-wind's 
rage 



THATAGEDELM. 41 

They heard, or listened to the cricket's 
chime 
Amid its thousand leaves, in pleasant summer 
time. 

VIII. 

There sat the group of home's sweet inner 

love, 
On summer eve, before the open door; 
The moon's soft light did, glimmering from 

above, 
Upon each friendly face its radiance pour. 
Then told the sire his bairns how grandsire 

bore. 
Beneath his arm, that Elm, a scion small. 
From Couestoga's wild and shelving shore : 
How from that shoot it grew so strong, so 

tall. 
The listening children smiled — the story 

pleased them all ! 



42 ' POEMS. 



IX. 

A century past ! "While generations died 

And other generations came, it stood 

In strength, in beauty, and in tow'ring 

pride, 
And threw its shadows on the ill and 

good! 
The stranger, passing, stopped and doffed 

his hood, 
And, with uplifted look, admired the tree ; 
And many begged, in earnest, solemn mood. 
That still that Elm, they knew and loved so 

long, 
For them might stand, and sigh as erst its 

evening song. 

X. 

Alas ! 'twas all in vain. The hard, rude 

blow. 
Fell from the hands of harder, ruder man ; 



THATAGEDELM. 43 

And in the dust has laid that Elm-tree low. 
My mournful eyes the lovely ruin scan ! 
Mourn, mourn, ye lonely winds, if mourn 

you can ! 
Mourn, gazing stars ! Mourn, moon, whose 

mellow light 
In fitful tremblings through its branches ran ! 
Mourn, vacant street ! Mourn, ye who pass 

in sight. 
The Elm-tree soughs not with the sighing wind 

to-night ! 

XI. 

The Poet mourns ! but finds it hard to tell 
"Which most to mourn — the heart that did 

the deed. 
Or the good tree which by its hardness fell ! 
A crowd of thoughts do through my bosom 

speed. 
Which onward draw me, and still onward 

lead; 



44 POEMS. 

I think, how life is but a transient day ; 

The things that live the hungry tomb do 
feed : 

Destruction rules the earth with mournful 
sway, 
And trees, and men, and all things earthly- 
fade away! 



EOSES! ROSES! 

Time of Eoses ! 

Many Eoses. 
See along the garden palings : 
See along the white porch-railings: 
See, the cottage pathway closes 
On each side with rows of Eoses — 
Oh ! how many Eoses 1 

Eoses, Eoses ! 

Friendly Eoses. 

See how, smiling as one passes, 

They look out through dewy glasses ; 

Bowing, too, with fragrant greeting, 

As if glad at such a meeting — 

Friendly are these Eoses. 

(45) 



46 . POEMS. 

Roses, Eoses ! 

Modest Roses. 
To the earth their faces holding; 
To their heart their beauties folding; 
Blood into their petals rushing, 
Like a maiden's cheek when blushing- 
Timid — modest Roses. 

Roses, Roses ! 

Fragrant Roses. 
Fragrant in the evening twilight: 
Fragrant in the morning sunlight : 
Fragrant at the cottage gate. 
As in parks of royal state — 
Oh ! the fragrant Roses. 

Roses, Roses ! 

Red, red Roses. 
Like the health, which sits adorning 
Youthful cheeks in life's gay morning 



roses! roses! 47 

So the ruddy life reposes 
On these youth-like, love-like roses — 
Hail ye red, red Eoses. 

Roses, Roses ! 
White, white Roses. 
Vestal petals, so untainted, 
Like the robes of mortals sainted, 
Sweetly imaging the brightness, 
Of the blest who walk in whiteness — 
White are Eden's Roses. 

Roses, Roses ! 

Pale, pale Roses. 
At the heart a worm is gnawing. 
Life from out the petals drawing; 
Oh ! my heart, so lately leaping 
High with joy, now bursts in weeping 
O'er these pale, pale Roses ! 



48 ' POEMS. 

Eoses, Eoses ! 
Fading Eoses. 
Eound the bush white leaves are lying, 
Like our earthly hopes in dying. 
June is gone, and with it closes 
This sweet, blooming reign of Eoses — 
Sad ! these fading Eoses ! 

Eoses, Eoses ! 

Farewell, Eoses. 
Farewell, blessed things of beauty, 
I'll return anew to duty: 
Till my life with Him reposes — 
In His life who Sharon's Eose is ! 
Farewell, lovely Eoses ! 



HERE ARE THE DEAD! 

"WRITTEN IN A GRAVE-YARD. 

Here are the dead — 

The silent dead ! 
They heed not, and they hear not, 

Our passing tread. 
How calm, with up-turned faces, 
Low in their resting-places, 
The pale, pale slumberers lie. 

Here are the dead — 
The recent dead ! 
The grass is not yet growing 
Above their head. 
5 D ( 49 ) 



50 POEMS. 

So lately loved and living, 
So mournfully now giving 
To dust their active limbs. 



Here are the dead — 

The early dead! 
Like petals from a spring-flower, 

So early shed. 
So early — ere the sorrow, 
That waited for to-morrow, 

Could come and make them weep. 

Here are the dead — 

The aged dead ! 
How many, many anxious years 

Pass'd o'er their head. 
With hoary locks, and bending, 
This way their journey wending, 
They've reached, at last, the end. 



HERE ARE THE dead! 51 

Here are the dead — 

Our kindred dead! 
Through long, long generations, 

Laid in this bed. 
Dust still with dust in union, 
A silent, deep communion, 
As side by side they lie. 

Here are the dead — 

The sainted dead! 
Their spirits are at home in bliss — 

And comforted. 
There bodies, here awaiting 
A glorious renovating. 
Shall rise, as Christ the Head. 



TO EMMIE. 

Say, Emmie, did you ever watcli the morning, 

calm and bright, 
That kindled up the orient sky with golden 

gleams of light; 
And did you see the waking earth throw its 

glad hands on high. 
While life and music shouted forth from earth 

and sea and sky ? 
Emmie ! 'tis a festal sight — but not so glad 

with love. 

As when the eternal morning dawns on sainted 

souls above. 

(52) 



TO EMMIE. 53 

Didst ever note how bright it is, when mid-day 

summer's light 
Makes shadow to its substance creep, and all 

on earth is bright ; — 
Almost too bright — the feeble eye shrinks 

'neath the blessed darts : 
E'en flowers veil their beauties o'er, and fold 

them to their hearts. 
But, Emmie, think, oh ! what must be yon 

bright and heavenly place, 
Amid whose light the seraph strong bends 

down and veils his face. 



And, Emmie, did you ever read a summer 
evening sky? 

How calm 'mid day's departing beams a thou- 
sand beauties lie ! 

Bright clouds repose in seas of light, like 
hearts unstain'd by sin, 
5* 



54 POEMS. 

And softly through eve's golden gates the 

light is gathered in ; 
O Emmie ! so, in life's sweet eve, our souls 

shall sink to rest, 
And pass into yon blissful heaven, to live 

among the blest. 



THE CEOSS. 

Do you look for rest? 

Look to the cross : 
Is your soul unblest ? 

Ask for the cross : 
Look — love — live 
At the cross. 

Do you ever bow? 

Bow at the cross : 
Do you ever vow? 

Yow at the cross : 
Preach — pray — praise 
At the cross. 



(55) 



66 POEMS. 

Do you ever mourn? 

Mourn at the cross: 
Do you feel forlorn ? 

Fly to the cross: 
Sigh — seek — smile 
At the cross. 

Do you seek a home? 

Seek at the cross : 
Vainly you roam, 

Far from the cross : 
Hope — Home — Heaven ! 
Are all at the cross. 



BIEDS. 

Oh, the Birds ! 

Many Birds. 
Flocks high in the air are flying, 
To the south in Autumn hieing, 
Thousands in the groves are sitting, 
Thousands o'er the fields are flitting. 
On the bushes one commences. 
Thousands answer from the fences. 
Small ones on the tree-tops talking, 
Tall ones in the water walking, 
Many sizes, many races. 
Loving all their several places. 

Oh, the Birds ! 

How many Birds ! 

(57) 



58 POEMS. 

Oh, the Birds ! 

Pretty Birds. 
How their necks are curved so nicely ! 
How their bills are carved precisely ! 
How their little eyeballs glisten, 
When they turn their heads to listen I 
And their many-colored feathers, 
Each one on the other gathers, 
With such slopings and such gradings, 
Brighter lines and softer shadings ; 
Take it all, their forms and features, 
Are they not most pleasing creatures? 

Yes, the Birds, 

Pretty Birds ! 

Oh, the Birds ! 

Friendly Birds. 
They disdain the desert places. 
Where they see no human faces; 
But they love the homestead hedges. 
And the woodland's outer edges, 



BIRDS. 50 

And the mnllens, and the thistles, 
Where the ploughman plods and whistles; 
And the orchard, as 'tis nearer 
To the house, to them is dearer; 
For they dread all lonely places. 
Where they see no friendly faces — 

Yes, the Birds, 

The friendly Birds. 



Oh, the Birds ! 

Singing Birds. 
Singing in the morning sunlight. 
Singing in the evening twilight, 
On tall weeds, in meadows, swinging. 
In the summer sun, and singing — 
Singing sweetly, singing gladly. 
Singing solemn, almost sadly; 
Singing solo, singing chorus. 
Singing softly, and sonorous. 



60 POEMS. 

Earth is vocal, heaven is riDging, 
"With the joyous, ceaseless singing 
Of the Birds, 
The singing Birds. 

Oh, the Birds! 

Sacred Birds. 
On the Bible's holy pages, 
How each Bird our heart engages ! 
Every instinct has its teachings, 
Every habit has its preachings; 
Every plume reflects some glory, 
Every song-note tells some story. 
Oft our heart, in praising, praying. 
Goes, in faith and fancy straying, 
Where the Jewish shepherds wandered, 
Where the holy prophets pondered, 
Listening to the soft cantation, 
And the joyous jubilation, 

Of the Birds, 

The sacred Birds. 



THE RUINS OF :^INEyEH. 

Nineveli is laid waste : who will 'beinoan her ? — Bible. 
I. 

Here, where these weeping willows humbly 

bend 
Their heavy waving branches to the ground: 
Where Tigris' waters, softly gliding, send 
Their drowsy murmurs on the air around, 
I sit, and listen to the solemn sound 
Which Fancy brings across the waste of 

years ! 

Before me rises many a doleful mound. 

Inspiring sadness and mysterious fears, 

And to my present view the long gone past 

appears ! 

6 (61) 



C2 POEMS. 

II. 

'Tis Mneveh ! — the city vast that sinned 
and wept 

And sinned again, until God's patience, 
waitins: lona:, 

Came to an end ; and the death-angel swept 

His mighty sickle through the guilty throng ! 

Then ceased the midnight revel, dance, and 
song; 

Grim ruin squatted, toad-like, on the splen- 
dor there ; 

Vile serpents crept the cursed wastes among; 

Eank weeds grew out the doors and win- 
dows where 
The feet of Friendship crossed — where smiled 
the happy fair. 

III. 

I silent sit, and gaze around in solemn awe, 
While o'er my spirit comes the voice of 
years gone by ; 



THE RUINS OF NINEVEH. 63 

And see fulfilled what ancient seers foresaw, 
Still hear their voices 'mid the ruins sigh ! 
'Tis evening ! — Clouds of bats from out the 

arches fly; 
The hooting owl — the bird of death and 

dread — 
Makes echo answer to his boding cry ; 
The cormorant returns, with reptiles fed. 
And hollow-booming bitterns thunder dirges 

for the dead ! 

IV. 

"Where once through curtained window, and 

through latticed gate. 
Bright, laughing eyes looked out, and ogled 

to the crowd — 
There on the lintels, each one with his mate. 
The doleful creatures sit and cry aloud. 
Through empty halls, where whilom dwelt 

the proud. 



64 POEMS. 

The satyrs dance beneath the moonlit sky ; 
And thorns and brambles now are glory's 

shroud ! 
The raven's croak, the screech-owl's wailing 

cry 
Is heard where ill-concealed the slimy hissing 

dragons lie ! 



THE OLD AKD THE NEW. 

Now the leaves of summer 
Are lying dry and drear; 

O'er the earth's cold surface 
The wailing winds do veer: 

Fare-thee-well for ever, 
Sighs the passing year. 

Look upon the dial ; 

See you not the sign? 
Ld, the gnomen's shadow 

Falls upon the line ! 

Backward lies the darkness, 

Forward gleams the shine. 
6* E (65) 



66 POEMS. 

Onward bravely travel, 
Star of hope before : 

Shadows fall behind you — 
Gloom yonr path no more; 

And the coming glory 
Brightens evermore. 

What the Old Year buried, 
That the llew will bring; 

Through the misty winter 
Peers the cheerful spring — 

In the mourning woodlands 
Joyous birds will sing. 

Life moves bravely onward. 
Death must drop away : 

"Where the wrecks lie scattered 
Who would wish to stay ? 

Earth is night and shadow, 
Heaven is joy and day. 



THE SOiTa OF THE AUTUMIT WIND, 

'Tts evening : the hum of the village is still, 
The bairns are abed, and we have our will ; 
So, wife, draw your chair to the first fall fire — 
I '11 stir it a little and make it burn higher — 
Then give me your ear, and give me your 

mind, 
While I sing you the song of the Autumn 

wind. 

I heard it to-day in the deep brown wood, 
As I thoughtfully walked or pensively stood ; 
It played with the twigs of the trees above. 
It mourned, in the pines like a sigh of love, 

(67) 



68 POEMS. 

It lifted the leaves that had fallen before, 
And bore them away with a rush and a roar. 

I saw by the tree-tops that bowed in its way, 
How it played o'er the forest and hurried 

away; 
The broad roountain's side, stretching down 

to the plain. 
Was rolling in waves like a field of ripe grain ; 
And the dark blue clouds moved swiftly and 

high. 
O'er the distant heights, through a troubled sky. 

In the orchard near, half bare of its leaves, 
Do you hear the song as it moans and grieves ? 
In the rustling vines o'er the garden way. 
It mimics the rain on a showery day ; 
And the willow lone by the fountain sighs, 
Like friends at the grave where a loved one lies. 

O wife ! do you hear how the windows drum 
In the rooms above ? — what a wintry hum ! 



THE AUTUMN WIND. 69 

At the eaves of the roof, and the sills of the 

doors, 
The fall wind veers, and pries, and roars ; 
And the chimney utters a weary moan. 
Like a spirit's grief that is lost and lone. 

A mystical feeling rolls over my mind. 
That echoes the song of the Autumn wind ; 
The world without, as it fades away, 
Doth shadow, O wife, our life's brief day ; 
And the peace within, with its light and love, 
Foretells of a stormless Home above. 



i^EW YEAR'S EVE. 

A NIGHT VISION. 

I. 

'TwAS late on l^ew Year's solemn eve, 

The stars above were bright, 
And every living, weary thing 

Had nestled for the night: 
The hearth's low fire threw on the wall 

A faint and fitful gleam, 
When o'er my thoughtful spirit came 

A vision and a dream; 

And mystic forms came gliding by 

Like wrecks upon a stream. 

(70) 



NEW year's EVE. 71 

II. 

I saw an aged, silent man, 

His locks were white as snow, 
His wintry robes were fringed around 

With yellow leaves below; 
And on him hung dry, withered wreaths. 

Borne off from Summer's bowers. 
And round him breathed some fragrance 
still 

Of Autumn's fruits and flowers. 
He sat as if to con and count 

The solemn passing hours. 

III. 

His head — how strange ! — with double face, 
Looked backward and before; 

Like Janus, worshipped and adored 
At Rome in days of yore. 

The hinder face was dark with woe, 
Like one who thinks of sin : 



72 POEMS. 

The other, bright as rainbow hues 

That span the misty lin, 
Seemed gazing at an open heaven 

With hope of getting in. 

IV. 

I knew it was Old Father Time — 

For in one face I read 
A sorrow and a penitence 

O'er days forever fled; 
And in the other, free from care. 

From furrowed woe or tear, 
I saw a light of hope that gave 

The countenance a cheer, 
And gleamed the brightness of its joy 

Adown the opening year. 

V. 

Still feebler burned the hearth's low fire, 
And fainter on the wall 



NEW year's EVE. 73 

I saw the ghostly light and shade 

lu mimic pictures fall; 
And in my spirit deeply wrought 

A mystic wisdom stirred, 
As when strange power in Autumn time 

Calls off the restless bird ; 
And what Old Time in musings thought 

My ear in voices heard: 

VI. 

"Where are the rains and the snows, 
"Where are the joys and the woes 

Of the year? 
Where are the rainbows and showers, 
"Where are the dews and the flowers, 
"Where are the moments and hours. 
That were here? 
Gone like the songs which the summer birds sing, 
Gone like the moanings the Autumn woods 
bring, 
7 



74 POEMS. 

Gone like the guests when the banquet is o'er, 
And the last fading foot-fall sounds back from 

the door, 
And the joy that is past will return never- 
more — 

Will return nevermore! 



VII. 

Where are the thrills and the throes. 
Where are the friends and the foes 

Of the year ? 
Where are the weepings and wailings, 
Where the assaults and assailings, 
Where are the praises and railings, 
Where are the faults and the failings. 
That were here ? 
Gone like the green leaves that freshened the 

wild-wood, 
Gone like the sweet songs that gladdened our 
childhood. 



NEW year's eve. 75 

Gone like the bubble that breaks on the 

stream, 
Gone like those pictures which are not, but 

seem — 

"When they glide in our fancies at night in a 

dream — 

And return nevermore ! 



VIII. 

As when one waketh from a dream, 

Roused by the joyous morn, 
I started from my mystic mood. 

For other thoughts were born. 
I stirred the embers on the hearth, 

I fed the fire anew; 
More cheerful pictures than before 

Upon the wall it threw. 
And brighter in my musing heart 

The rising visions grew. 



76 POEMS. 



IX. 



Old Father Time himself was cheered, 

And by the hearth's warm glow 
His cheerful face was turned to me — 

Away the face of woe ; 
The Clock struck Twelve ! and every stroke 

Was like the tap of drum, 
That calls the waiting soldier when 

The hour of march has come, 
And sweetly in my spirit's cells 

I heard its cheering hum. 

X. 

The New Year opened ! — Father Time 

Resumed his earnest way; 
Forward shone the light of hope, 

And back the shadows lay! 
He bade me follow: up I rose, 

And bent my soul to win — 



NEW year' SEVE. 77 

"Beware! beware!" said Father Time, 

" Beware, beware of sin ! 
Keep in your eye yon open Heaven — 

There's hope of getting in ! " 

XI. 

Kyrie eleison ! — humbly I pray — 
Kyrie eleison ! — shine on my way ! 
Shine on my spirit, and shine on my path: 
Save me from evil, and save me from wrath. 
If not from sorrow, from sin make me free — 
Kyrie eleison! — bring me to Thee! 



'J ^ 



THE MAECH OF EMPIHE. 

WRITTEN UNDER A TREE IN THE FAR WEST. 

In the deep and awful forest 

Of the wide primeval "West — 
On the rich and lonely prairies 

That upon its bosom rest — 
Along the mighty rivers, 

And along the smaller streams, 
I wandered, seeing visions, 

Like one who strangely dreams. 

The herds upon the prairies. 
The wild beasts in the wood, 

"When moving, moved but westward, 
Looked westward when they stood. 

(78) 



THE MARCH OF EMPIRE. 79 

A sense of awe possessed them, 

A deep and dreamy dread, 
As timidly they lingered. 

Or fearfully they fled. 

Around me were the Eed men. 

But restless in their stay; 
A deep mysterious instinct 

Was urging them away; 
And as the birds of passage 

In the silent autumn time^ 
Their hearts were deeply longing 

For a more congenial clime. 

In the distance, far, far Eastward, 
And at first but faintly heard. 

There seemed mysterious roarings, 
As of thousand forests stirred — 

A noise like mighty armies 
In warfare or in glee, 



80 POEMS. 

And then a deep dread sounding 
Like the rolling of the sea. 

Still nearer, and still louder, 

I heard the mystic tread; 
Still faster, and more fearful, 

The solemn Eed men fled. 
Around me fell the forests 

As mowers fell the grass. 
The mountains bowed, the valleys rose 

To let the armies pass. 

Encampments grow to cities, 

And tents spread far and wide; 
And proud upon the rivers 

Their ships of thunder ride; 
Their shouts of joy and triumph, 

O'er prairie and o'er plain, 
Sound in the primal forests, 

And echo back again. 



THE MARCH OP EMPIRE. 81 

It is the inarch of empire — 

The tramp and tread of States — 
The moving of the millions 

With fiat that creates. 
"Where loneliness for ages reigned, 

ITow myriad homes repose, 
The wilderness is glad for them, 

And blossoms as the rose. 



F 



THE SILL BEKEATH THE DOOE. 

There is a strange, a mystic spell, 

Of memory and love. 
That chains my heart to early days, 

Where'er I rest or rove. 
I see again the old home house, 

I walk across each floor; 
I go the passage through, and stand. 
With farewell words and staff in hand, 
Upon the sill 

That lies beneath the door. 

(82) 



THE SILL BENEATH THE DOOR. 83 

Each spot around that dear old home 

Its well-kept treasure gives: 
In every tree, and wall, and chair. 

Some cherished memory lives. 
But nowhere beats my heart so high, 

And nowhere feel I more. 
Than here, when musingly I stand, 
With farewell words and staff in hand, 
Upon this sill 

That lies beneath the door. 

What silent years have fled since I 

Looked out from dear old home. 
With hopeful heart, through moist'ning eye. 

For better days to come ! 
'Twas here I turned to those I left, 

With longing heart once more — 
Here lingered still, where now I stand 
With farewell words and staff in hand. 
Upon the sill 

That lies beneath the door. 



84 POEMS. 

I've passed o'er other thresholds since, 

To grander halls — but still 
I never entered home like this, 

Across another sill. 
Parents and home we have but once, 

"When gone they come no more ! 
Oh ! what a moment w^hen we stand, 
"With farewell words and staff in hand, 
Upon the sill 

That lies beneath the door. 



GETHSEMENE. 

I. 

When heart is weary, 
When eyes are teary, 
Or life's way dreary, 
I seek the shades of 

Gethsemene. 
And thither straying. 
Believing, praying, 
I hear Christ saying, 

" Oh ! trust iD me." 

Then with confession. 

And intercession, 
8 (85) 



86 POEMS. 

And new profession, 
Hopeful I press on, 

O Christ, to Thee ! 
And feel Thy love more 
Sweetly than e'er before 
Stealing my heart o'er, 
In the lone shades of 

Gethsemene. 



II. 

To the romantic eye. 
Under the wide, wide sky. 
In many climes lie 
More charming scenes than 

Gethsemene — 
Gardens with cool bowers. 
Fountains and bright flowers, 
Where pass the glad hours 

In idle glee; 



aETHSEMENE. 87 

Here let the gay walk, 
Here let the proud stalk, 
And all earth's sins mock — 

Mock, but not flee. ^ 

O'er sin to sorrow. 
New strength to borrow 
For each to-morrow, 
No spot is like to 

Gethsemene. 

III. 

Queen of the Holy Land ! 
Within thy temple grand 
Priests of the Crescent stand ! 
"Waste lies the glory, 

O Zion ! of thee. 
Hark! as the evening falls, 
Muzzien on Omar's walls. 
Loud to the Moslem calls — 

"Bend, bend the knee." 



88 POEMS. 

All me ! he calls in vain ; 
I fly the voice profane, 
I seek a better fane, 
Where thou, O Saviour! 

Didst pray for me ! 
I find the best repose. 
In the soft evening's close, 
"Where the bright Kedron flows, 
Praying with Christ in 

Gethsemene. 

IV. 

Yonder the Jews creep 
Down by the walls steep. 
And at the stones weep, 
Wailing by leave of 

The Musselman. 
Are your eyes teary? 
Is your heart weary? 
Your land is dreary: 
Ye chose a robber — 

And he has come ! 



GETHSEMENE. 89 

Christ, ye betrayed Him! 
Hence ye conveyed Him, 
Shamefully slayed Him 

On Calvary! 
Now save that vain tear; 
Weep not to stones there; 
Weep o'er your sins here, 
Bowing to Christ in 

Gethsemene. 

V. 

Charmed, on this sacred ground, 
As dies each worldly sound 
In the deep peace around, 
Sweeter than rest is 

This spot to me. 
At thy foot. Olivet, 
Fondly I linger yet: 
Think of His bloody sweat 

And agony ! 



8* 



90 POEMS. 

Whilst with confession, 
And intercession, 
And new profession. 
Hopeful I press on, 

O Christ, to Thee! 
Jesus ! Thy love more 
Sweetly than e'er before. 
Steals all my heart o'er 
In the sweet shades of 

Gethsemene. 



THE EAIK 



Eain, Eain, Eain ! 
PatteriDg on the roof, and running down the 

pane, 
Eoaring in the spouting, filling up the drain. 
Coming with a blessing, and going off again. 
What a rich profusion. 
What a strange confusion. 
The falling of the rain ! 

(91) 



92 POEMS. 

Rain, Eain, Eain ! 
When the shower is heavy it flattens down the 

grain, 
Tears the mellow highway, and deluges the 

plain ; 
Fences, bridges, houses, it hurries to the main ; 
What an untold power 
In the clouds that lower, 

To empty down the rain. 

Rain, Rain, Rain ! 
Oh ! how very cheering when the earth in 

drought has lain ; 
When the farmer, having scanned his parched 

fields with pain, 
Is looking to the burning sky, but looking all 
in vain : 

Then with grateful wonder 
He hears the distant thunder. 
And hails the coming rain ! 



THE EAIN. 9^ 

Rain, Rain, Rain ! 
Welcome to my roof and welcome to my 

pane; 
Come, ye gentle showers, with freshness to the 

plain. 
And lay your vernal kisses upon the waiting 
grain. 

What a kindly feeling 
O'er my heart comes stealing. 
With the falling of the rain ! 



LAUEA AMAI^DA'S GEAYE. 

WRITTEN AT HER GRAVE IN LET7ISBURG CEMETERY, NOV. 12, 1857. 

Ten years since thou art gone — 

Ten years it is to-day; 
Ten years thine infant form hath slept 

In this lone bed of clay. 

We call it death, on earth, 
They call it birth, on high ; 

Ten years since thou art truly born 
Where thou shalt never die. 

(94) 



LAURA AMANDA S GRAVE. 95 

Ten years since thou art gone — 

But they say come, above ; 
Ten years among the infant choir, 

At home in joy and love. 

We gave thee up with tears — 
They smiled thee welcome home; 

"We mourned for thee so early left. 
They hailed thee early come. 

Ten years where angels are, 
In that bright world of bliss ; 

"Would it be love that e'er should dare 
To wish thee back to this? 

I came not sadly here, 

I go not sad away: 
I did but long to see thy grave. 

Just ten years old to-day ! 



THE SOUL'S ASPIEATIOJSrS. 

O WHAT an awful mystery! 
O what a deep, deep history, 

Hidden within us lies ! 
The spirit hath its unseen world, 
And round it other spheres are whirl'd, 

In its own mystic skies. 

What restless aspirations — 
What sense of limitations, 

Live in it side by side ! 
What littleness that binds it — 
What greatness, too, that blinds it! 

How narrow, and how wide! 

(96) 



THE soul's aspirations. 97 

What silent revolutions 
Roll in its convolutions, 

"With many a grate and jar! 
Yet evermore what soundings 
Come, like victorious boundings, 

To hail it from afar. 

Around its quiet fountains 

Bise dark and towering mountains, 

Lost in the clouds they kiss; 
Yet e'er adown them courses, 
From still remoter sources. 

Its greater life and bliss. 

How restless, ever heaving, 

Aspiring and believing. 

Beyond its noblest flight ! 

High instincts, ever reaching. 

Lay hold of higher teaching. 

And struggle to the light. 
9 G 



98 POEMS. 

joy! to it 'tis given, 

To know its home in Heaven, 

"Where all that longs is blest! 
Led by these aspirations, 
It breaks its limitations, 

And find its final rest. 



DEATH I:N" a BALL-EOOM. 



"This morning, about 1 o'clock, a sad affair took place at 
a ball given by the De Soto Assembly, at the Saranak Hall, at 
the north-east corner of Eighth and Callowhill Streets. While 
the ball was in progress, a young woman named Adeline Yeager, 
■who was engaged in dancing, suddenly fell upon her face on 
the floor. Her companions hastened to raise her up, when it 
was found that she was dead. The melancholy occurrence 
caused a deep impression among the persons who were present 
at the party. The body of the deceased, attired in her ball- 
dress, was removed to the Fourteenth Ward Station-house, and 
from there was carried to her late residence, No. 1224 North 
Sixteenth Street, above Girard Avenue. The deceased was 
thirty-five years of age. Her sudden death is attributed to 
disease of the heart." — Philadelphia paper. 

(99) 



100 POEMS. 



I. 



'Mid brilliant light 

Of chandeliers, 
A damsel bright, 
On a festive night, 
With keen delight 

In the dance appears. 



II. 

Her laugh is loud, 
Her eye is proud; 
Her heart is gay 
As a bird in May; 
While light and fleet, 
On her tripping feet. 
She whirls around 
To the viol's sound, 
With the gladdest bound 
In that giddy crowd. 



DEATH IN A BALL-ROOM. 101 



III. 

.But see ! she reels 

With a strange advance ! 
And each one feels 
That her step reveals 
A move so wrong, 
That it cannot belong 

To the merry dance ! 
As the lightning flash, 
Preceding the crash 

That levels the oak — 
Death's sudden dart 
Struck to her heart; 

And she never spoke! 

IV. 



How glad and gay 
On that festal day, 



9* 



102 POEMS. 



They saw her leave, 
In the early eve, 

Her cheerful home. 
But sad and strange 
Is the sudden change! 
Through the dismal night 
By the street-lamp light, 

"With her corpse they come ! 
From the dancing crowd, 
Where the mirth rang loud, 
They bear her — yes. 
In her ball-room dress. 

That is now her shroud! 



V. 



Disease of the heart 
Has caused her death; 

Disease of the heart 
Has taken her breath. 



DEATH IN A BALL-ROOM. 103 

'Twas this, they say — 
As they bear her away, 

"With looks askance — 
That made her reel, 
And first reveal 
A move so wrong, 
That did not belong 

To the merry dance. 
And thus they stayed 
The alarum made 

By the sudden stroke, 
"When the archer's dart 
Struck to her heart. 

That she never spoke! 



VI. 

I too must fall — 
Death awaits us all- 
Solemn and true ! 



104 POEMS. 

Disease of the heart 
May be the dart 

That lays me low; 
But not in the hall 
Of the giddy ball, 
Would I hear the call, 

O God, from Thee! 



THE SONa OF THE AUTUMIS" RAIN^. 

Chime in, my song, with the Autumn rain, 
As it drearily drives o'er the yellow plain ; 
As it sounds in the wood, as it drips from the 

trees, 
As it swells in the rivers, and roars to the seas. 

Chime in, my song, with the Autumn rain, 
As it drops from the eaves, as it beats on the 

pane; 
As it plays on the roof, while its echoes start, 

The tune of the past, in the song of the heart. 

(105) 



106 POEMS. 

Chime Id, my song, witli the Autumn rain, 
There is no despair in its dreary strain : 
Its lone, low hummings of sadness belong 
To the homeward way, and the pilgrim's song. 

Chime in, my song, with the Autumn rain, 
As it drearily drives o'er the yellow plain : 
For kind alike are the heavens which bring 
The Autumn rains and the showers of Spring. 



FAITH, HENISTIE! 



I. 

The world is sometimes dark, Hennie, 

But then the heavens are bright; 
And glories that are hid by day, 
Dawn out along the upward way. 
When all below is night — 

That is the light of Faith, Hennie. 

II. 

The spirit hath an eye, Hennie — 
A hidden, mystic eye; 

(107) 



108 POEMS. 

That sees beyond the ken of sense, 
The regions of a world immense 
In glorious prospect lie. 

That is the eye of Faith, Hennie. 

III. 

The spirit hath an ear, Hennie — 

A strange, mysterious ear; 
In which, as in a smooth-lipped shell. 
Echoes of distant chorals swell — 

The same as angels hear. 

That is the ear of Faith, Hennie. 

IV. 

The spirit has a strength, Hennie — 

A superhuman strength; 
Which, though repressed by sin and earth, 
Will come by grace to glorious birth, 

And live unchained at length. 

That is the strength of Faith, Hennie. 



FAITH, HENNIE! 109 

V. 

The spirit hatli a home, Hennie — 

A high and happy home; 
Where, in the Salem of the blest, 
The exiled heart shall find its rest, 

And never, never roam. 

That is the home of Faith, Hennie. 



10 



THE GATE TO THE LAOT) OF THE 
BLEST. 

I OFTEN have asked, when my heart was op- 
pressed, 

For the gateway that leads to the Land of the 
Blest; 

And I longed — should I find it — in peace to 
depart 

To the rest of the weary, the home of the 
heart. 

I have dreamed that the bright, golden vista 

of even 

Might be, to sad spirits, the inlets to Heaven ; 

(110) 



THE LAND OF THE BLEST. Ill 

And in faith, and in fancy, I sighed after rest, 
Beyond those bright gates, in the Land of the 
Blest. 

While musing in sorrow, an angel of love 
Let in on my faith a sweet light from above ; 
And said, as it lured me : " I'll lead thee to 

rest. 
And show thee the Gate to the Land of the 

Blest." 

Led on by the angel, and sweetly beguiled, 
"We came to the newly-made grave of my child ! 
"Here, here," said the angel, "the weary find 

rest, 
And this is the Gate to the Land of the Blest." 

can it be so, that this mound of my fears — 
This spot of my sorrows, bedewed with my 
tears — 



112 POEMS. 

Is the brightest on earth, which I long sought 

distressed, 
The inlet and Gate to the Land of the Blest. 

I blest, through my tears, the kind angel that 

smiled 
At the head of the grave of my now sainted 

child ; 
And was glad that so early my babe found the 

rest 
Of the grave, and the Gate to the Land of the 

Blest. 

Wave gently, ye willows, that shadow this 

mound ! 
Fall softly, ye dews of the night, on this 

ground ! 
Sleep sweetly, my babe ! — my heart is at 

rest — 
I have found the bright Gate to the Land of 

the Blest. 



AWAY AND AWAY. 



As streams are hieing, 

Away and away; 
As leaves are dying, 

Decay and decay; 

As stars at break of day, 

As childhood's happy play, 

As youth's sweet smiling May, 

So pass our lives away, 

Away and away. 
10* H (113) 



114 POEMS. 

As travellers weary, 
We go, we go; 
Thougli oftentimes weary, 
With woe, with woe: 
As goes the exile's sigh, 
As mounts the eagle high, 
So turns our pilgrim eye 
Up to the glorious sky, 

Away and away. 



THE SPIEIT'S EVEI^TIDE. 

The spirit hath its evening hours. 

When dies away life's restless din; 
Then peace sheds down its soothing powers. 
As when the night falls round the flowers — 
And shuts their fragrance in. 

The bird makes soft its shaded nest 
"With down it gathered in the sun; 

And so we come to sweetest rest 
When toil is o'er and work is done. 

(115) 



116 POEMS. 

Serener light, as day declines, 
On the hot field of labor shines ; 
While memory, in this holy hour. 
Asserts its reproducing power; 
And to our resting heart appears 
The fruit of toil, without its tears. 

Such peace is felt divinely nigh, 

In rudest storms and darkest night; 
How sweetly doth the spirit lie 
In covert, as the rage goes by ! 
A rainbow, in the dismal storm, 
Stands o'er us like a heavenly form, 
And all beneath is bright. 

How peaceful will that evening be. 

When life's last work is bravely done; 
And every woe of life shall cease, 
Kear that great Heart of love and peace. 
That beats above the Sun ! 



DEATH OF THE PASTOE'S WIFE. 



Oft, oft beside the solemn bed of death, 

"Where anxious friends sat silent in their 

cloud of fears. 

The faithful Pastor watched the feeble breath ; 

And there, with others mourning, dropp'd 

affection's tears. 

The scene is changed! In grief his heart 

must bow; 

Beside his own belov'd he weeps and watches 

now. 

(117) 



118 POEMS. 

"Within ttie parsoDage dread stillness reigns; 
And in th^ room of death but looks, not 
whispers, speak; 

And, as advancing death the victory gains, 
Warm tears are coursing ever warmer down 
his saddened cheek. 

Chide not his grief; such tears e'en faith may- 
shed, 

Since Christ at Beth'ny wept o'er His beloved 
dead. 

'Tis o'er! We mournful say that she has gone. 
But angels, on the other side, say she has 
come ; 

Her life has passed from view, but joyeth on 
In a far higher flow of bliss, and in a hap- 
pier home. 

O joy ! when Christians die Heaven greets the 
earth. 

And what we mourn as death the angels hail 
as birth. 



THE pastor's wife. 119 

Close her eyes for sweetest rest, 

Earthly things she sees no more; 
Fold her hands upon her breast, 
For her work is o'er. 



Dress her in the purest white. 
That it is the sainted wear; 
Place white lilies on her shroud, 
Rosebuds in her hair. 



Bear her to the church, for there 

She has learned to live and love; 
Round her offer praise and prayer — 
She will join above. 

Lay her gently to her rest 

'I^eath the churchyard's shaded sod; 
Wait, as her own spirit waits, 

For the trump of God. 



120 POEMS. 

Deck her grave with lively green, 

Plant a flower at its head; 
Hopeful, lovely be the scene 

Round the lovely dead. 

See her not as when she died, 

ISTor as sleeping in the tomb — 
Think of her as glorified 

In the heavenly home. 

Speak not much of her heart's love • 

This the world can little bear; 
Angels knew her well above, 

They will tell it there. 



In your heart's deep, silent love, 

Let her sacred image lie; 
'Tis a secret bliss you bear. 

That can never die. 



THE PASTOE'S wife. 121 

Joined in faith and boly love, 

Christian hearts are sundered never 
Ours on earth are ours above, 

One in Christ forever! 



11 



HIDDEN TOIL. 



Once a great author wrote a learned work : 

The printer printed it ; and then he took , 

The sheets, and with them to the binder went; 

The binder bound it, and put on his name. 

But see ! he had in his employ a lad 

"Who made the paste ; but not the justice had 

To let the world know what the boy had done. 

Thus naught was known of him without whose 

help 

The author's book could never, never have 

been made. 

(122) 



HIDDEN TOIL. 123 

'Tis au ungrateful world in wliich we live; 

And there is many a little service done 

For which no thanks are paid. There's many 

a stroke — 
Yes, many a weary little stroke, in secret made, 
And made in earnest, too, and made with tears, 
That is not kindly counted e'en by those 
Upon whose hearth of joy it casts its little chip. 
A thousand little services make up. 
The vasty sum of good which those enjoy 
Whom better fortune hath not doomed to toil. 
These come not in the count of gratitude. 
Because they are so small — e'en as the drop 
Of dew, that makes the blade of grass more 

green, 
Doth not arrest the separate view of him 
"Who careless o'er the summer landscape looks. 
But there's an Eye that sees the pebble small. 
E'en as the mio-hty world ; and He rewards 
The widow's mite, e'en as the gift which builds 



124 POEMS. 

A cathedral — rewards the little and the great. 
O think of this, ye served ! think of this, 
Ye servers, and be glad ! Look up in hope ! 
The day of recompense will surely come. 

Forgive the muse — 'tis but a little thought 
Crept into song ; I gave it as it came. 
To some, if well applied, it brings reproof; 
To others consolation, rich and sweet. 



THE WATEE-LILY. 

Have you seen the water-lily? 

Seen the pond or water-lily? 

How it grows, and how it flowers ? ' 

If you have not, I shall tell you, 

Tell you of the water-lily, 

Where it grows, and how it flowers. 

When you see a dismal water, 
See a dark and dismal water, 
Pond cut off from running river, 
Hemmed and hedged by grass and bushes, 
Tepid, stagnant, black, and lonely, 
11 * ( 125 ) 



126 POEMS. 

Filled with all the hateful creatures 
Which such places do inhabit; 
Where by day the exhalations 
Of the hot sun spread around it, 
And at night chill fog arises, 
Covering' all its stagnant bosom — 
Then look closely — you shall see it. 
See the yellow water-lily. 

In a pond like this, believe it — 
In this pond — how strange, unlikely!' 
Grows and blooms the water-lily. 
If still further you should ask me, 
Ask me of this water-lily, 
How it grows, and all about it — 
I should answer, I should tell you. 
Tell you in such words as follow; 

In the pond's deep, dismal bottom, 
In the mud its roots are fastened ; 



THE WATER-LILY. 127 

Then its stem is long and slender, 
Pliant almost as a vine is, 
Winding through the water upward, 
Till it reaches to the surface. 

At the vine-like termination 

Lie two leaves like twins together — 

Green and broad they lie together: 

Flat, and floating on the water, 

Kee^ the slender stem from sinking 

To the dark and dismal bottom; 

And between these leaves — behold it ! — 

Grows the lovely yellow flower. 

Blooms the charming water-lily: 

Courts the sun upon the surface 

Of the dark and gloomy water. 

Should you ask me for the lesson 
Which this water-lily teaches, 
Ask me how it would address us 



128 POEMS. 

Could it speak such words as we do: 
I should answer, I should tell you — 
Hear the words as I repeat them — 
Hear its words of holiest wisdom : 

" Child of earth, and child of sorrow^ 
You are often in dark w^aters, 
ISTaught hut dismal scenes around you — 
But the life of grace will keep you, 
Keep your heavy soul from sinking, 
Make your life grow to the surface : 
Faith and Hope, twin leaves, sustain you, 
Keep your head above the water; 
And between them ever blooming, 
Fresher than the water-lily, 
Love will show its fadeless flower, 
Smiling in the light of heaven. 

And should sorrow's waters, rising, 
Ever threaten to submerge you — 



THE WATER-LILY. 129 

Life of grace, like stem of lily, 
Rises as the water rises : 
Faith and Hope, upon the surface — 
Low^ or high, or calm or troubled — 
Float like life-boats with their treasure, 
Keeping every wave beneath them. 
And the flower of Love between them, 
Blooming on the troubled surface, 
Smiling in the light of heaven." 



THE POWEE OF LOVE. 

There is a story, whicli you may have heard, 
Of a fond mother and her darling child. 
As often as my mem'ry calls it up. 
It wakens thoughts that far outrun the tale, 
And teach me wisdom of the loveliest kind. 

The child had just attained that pleasant age, 
"When toys and playthings, scattered o'er the 

room. 
Suffice no more, and the essay to walk 
Is a success. The mother, in her cares 
Engrossed, a moment thought not of her child ; 

(130) 



THE POWER OF LOVE. 131 

But sudden, as a shock electric, through. 
Her heart the instincts of maternal love, 
An anxious current, ran. Where is the child? 
She sought it in the room where it had played ; 
Found the forsaken toj^s, but not the child. 
Then, quick as thought, dire fears of evil 

thrilled 
Her breast. She hastened to a ledge of rocks 
A stone-cast from her door. horrid sight 
There, bending o'er a fearful precipice, 
"With curious eye, and much amused, the child 
Surveyed the rocky deeps that ya\yned below ! 
A shriek, a word, yea, even the lightest tread 
Of her approaching feet, might cause alarm, 
And turn the well-poised scale of life and 

death I 

The revelation of the mother near must prove 
Its loss or gain. Its gain, if she attract; 
Its loss, if she create alarm. A breath 



132 POEMS. 

"Will break the tiny hold of thistle-down, 
Which draws adhesive to the gentle touch. 
She must attract, allure the timid child. 

Great is the mystery of love, which gives 
Instinctive wisdom to a mother's heart. 
Before our premises are found, her mind, 
Intuitive, hath the conclusion reached ; 
And, without process, is her scheme complete. 

Like as a statue in the attitude of love — 
"With all its features most intensely fond. 
But no disturbing heart within — she stands. 
Love, like a mighty magnet, draws her 

heart, 
And fears, like faries, bid her rush, embrace ; 
Biit firm, and calm, and anxiously she stands 
In its convenient sight ; and, watching for its 

eye. 
She hares her snowy bosom to her child! 



THE POWER OF LOVE. 133 

"What agony of love ! What trembling hopes 
And fears into that awful moment crowd ! 
"Will not its guardian angel near unseen, 
Ply kind suggestions to that infant heart ? 
It will. Behold I the child looks round, and 

spies. 
With sudden charm, the well-placed lure of 

love; 
And, by strange, sacred instinct drawn, or 

moved 
By feeble mem'ry of a former good, 
Creeps from the fearful rocky ledge away. 
To seek that font of life — its mother's 

breast ! 

then the sudden rush and blest embrace ! 
Can any, save a mother, know the joy 
Which such salvation brings ? Can any 

heart. 
Save hers, conceive a like device of love ? 

12 



THE SWA'N. 



Like a soft song that in its own blest tones 
expires, 
The peaceful swan sings as it soars, and, 
soaring, dies : 
So sweetly pass the happy saints from earth 

away — 
So die they, breathing forth a swan-like fare- 
well lay 
To those they leave on earth, as up to Hea- 
ven they rise. 

(136) 



THE SWAN. 137 

White as the stainless bosom of the snowy 
swan, 
The robes celestial are w^hich all the sainted 
wear: 
Calm as the peaceful surface of the waveless 

lake, 
When sailing swans their summer evening 
pastimes take. 
The spirits are of all who rest forever there. 



12* 



THE YAMPIKE SIK 



In dreary dens and dusky regions of the earth, 

The vampire, Sin, avoids the light of day ; 
But in the twilight deep he seeks the halls of 
mirth. 
And flits around to mark his future prey. 
The ruddy cheek, the life so glad and light, 
Inflamed with wine and lust — "Ho ! tempt- 
ing sight ! — 
How I shall glut upon that hlood to- 



nio'ht!" 



"O 



(138) 



THE VAMPIRE SIN. 139 

The feast is o'er, the mirthful dance is past ; 

The wreaths are faded, and the lamps are out ; 
The sated guests are now dispersing fast, 
And jocund rings around the homeward 
shout. 
Soon chiding conscience, and a restless 

heart. 
The solace find which slumbers can impart 
On couches softened by luxurious art. 

In silence now, the vampire Sin, that feeds 

Upon the blood of souls, draws darkly near! 
Fast to its vitals leeched, the spirit bleeds, 
Disturbed by neither weakness, pain, nor fear. 
Dull surfeit opiates the fevered brain. 
The vampire's fanning wings allay the 

pain — 
The spirit slumbers ne'er to ^^'ake again ! 



THE TWIE" FISHEES. 



A DIRGE — DEDICATED TO HENNIE AND ANNIE. 



"Who is not acquainted with the two plaster-of- Paris images, 
borne about and sold by Italians, called the Twin Fishers? 
What lovely symbols of innocent childhood ! In their aprons 
they essay to carry their fishes ; but the smooth-sided crea- 
tures of the stream are ever gliding out at the sides, and the 
innocent children elevate one side of the apron only to let 
them slide out the more surely on the other ; and with what 
earnestness of look — half perplexity, because they are drop- 
ping out, and half admiration of the beautiful captives them- 
selves — do they gaze at them jumping at their feet, while 
others still are falling from the carelessly-held apron ! Many 
thoughts come up in our mind while beholding these lovely 
Twin Fishers. Though they are not of marble, and would 
perhaps never be thought of, in connection with exhibitions 
of statuary, as "things of art," yet sure we are that there 
are many who fed the beauty of these images, where aflfecta- 

(140) 



THE TWIN FISHERS. 141 

tion of higher pretensions to taste would disown seeing it. No 
wonder, then, that these innocent little creatures are so popu- 
lar as mantel and hearth ornaments. Thus, then, it came to 
pass that a pair of the Fishers had long graced the mantel of 
a parlor where we had enjoyed many a social hour. It caiiie 
to pass, also, in the process of time, that on a sad and stormy 
day the veering wind sent a sudden blast down the chimney, 
the fire-board fell, and the little Fishers lay in wreck and ruin 
over the floor ! Then it was that it fell to the Poet to allay 
the common grief, by the song of the Twin Fishers ; and in- 
asmuch as sorrow is lightened by being distributed, we invite 
the reader to join us in these measures of sorrow. 



I. 

How oft have ye cheered me, ye sweet, tuneful 

Mne, 
When dull, heavy sorrow has darkened my 

soul; 
Come now with a song to this sad heart of 

mine. 
And calm the rough billows that over me 

roll. 
soothing consolers ! ye only have skill 
To ease my heart's tremor, and bid it be 

still. 



142 POEMS* 



II. 



E"ot selfishly sad do I call for your aid ; 

Not mine was the first bitter draught of this 

woe ; 
On friends of my heart the bereavement is laid, 
And theirs are the tears with which mine own 

now flow. 
Give words that upon their stormed spirits 

shall fall 
Like the music of David on the sad heart of 

Saul. 

III. 

Let me touch, Muses ! your tenderest vein. 
And call forth your sympathy freely and true ; 

Lend, lend me your numbers, and lead on the 
strain, 
Till I sing all the sorrowful story to you — 

A story beginning all cheerful as light, 

But ending as sad and as fearful as night ! 



THE TWIN FISHERS. 143 

EV. 

joy on the day when from Italy's strand — 

Yes, Italy, land of soft airs and bright skies — 
Came the wit of the head and the skill of the 
hand, 

That for pleasure of others so wittingly plies, 
From flour of plaster the image to mould. 
To Mature so true, with its graces untold ! 

V. 

Yes, joy above all, on that happiest hour. 
When, with high inspiration, the artist con- 
ceived 
This finest, most graceful display of his power, 
Which praise above all, and from all, has 
received. 
When the little Twin Fishers stood graceful to 

view, 
Joy shone in his eyes like the sun in the dew. 



142 POEMS. 



II. 



'Not selfishly sad do I call for your aid ; 

Not mine was the first bitter draught of this 

woe; 
On friends of my heart the bereavement is laid, 
And theirs are the tears with which mine own 

now fl.ow. 
Give words that upon their stormed spirits 

shall fall 
Like the music of David on the sad heart of 

Saul. 

III. 

Let me touch, Muses ! your tenderest vein, 
And call forth your sympathy freely and true ; 

Lend, lend me your numbers, and lead on the 
strain. 
Till I sing all the sorrowful story to you — 

A story beginning all cheerful as light, 

But ending as sad and as fearful as night ! 



THE TWIN FISHERS. 143 

EV. 

joy on tlie day when from Italy's strand — 

Yes, Italy, land of soft airs and bright skies — 
Came the wit of the head and the skill of the 
hand, 

That for pleasure of others so wittingly plies, 
From flour of plaster the image to mould, 
To i^^ature so true, with its graces untold ! 

V. 

Yes, joy above all, on that happiest hour, 
When, with high inspiration, the artist con- 
ceived 
This finest, most graceful display of his power, 
Which praise above all, and from all, has 
received. 
When the little Twin Fishers stood graceful to 

view, 
Joy shone in his eyes like the sun in the dew. 



144 POEMS. 



VI. 



The Brother as mild as a morning in May, 
Tlie Sister as meek as a cherub — they stand; 

And, bearing the little pet fishes away. 

They glide through the apron and slip through 
tbe hand. 

Such innocent looks of contentment and love, 

"We are wont to transfer to the cherubs above. 

VII. 

Sweet picture of childhood ! — that holiest time ! 
No shadow of sorrow has darkened their 
brows ; 
With hearts that hear music from Heaven's 
pure clime, 
With love never checked by perfidious vows. 
O beautiful Fishers! how mild and how sweet, 
With the pets in their aprons, the pets at their 
feet. 



THE TWIN FISHERS. 145 

VIII. 

When Hennie and Annie had purchased the 

pair, 
And bore them with fondness away in their 

arms ; 
The act, to the thoughtful, w^as evidence rare 
That their hearts were well used to the purest 

of charms. 
And there, 'neath the mantel, the Twin Fishers 

stood. 
The joy of the pure, and the praise of the good. 

IX. 

But oh ! that misfortune should sadden my song, 
And shadows should darken the joys that I 
sing ! 
But earth never leaves us the beautiful long, 
And sweetest of flowers first attract the keen 
sting ! 
13 K 



146 POEMS. 

'Tis sad — yet 'tis well, for if this were not so, 
"We might sell our bright Heaven for the bright 
thiDgs below. 



Sad day when the storm, roaring fierce round 

the roof. 
Sent a blast down the chimney, so sudden 

and strong 
That the fire-board yielded — the nails were not 

proof 
For the strength of the wdnd that bore down 

on it long. 
The dear little Fishers, so lovely before, 
A wreck and a ruin were found on the floor ! 

XI. 

How changed is the place ! Though new taste 
and new care 
Have been busy around where the ruin was 

wrought ; 



THE TWIN FISHERS. 147 

In vain would the fresh-painted fire-board 

there 
Beguile the sad eye — it is nought! it is 

nought ! 
'No ! gone and for aye, is the charm and the 

pride, 
The mantel is lone with no pets at its side ! 



WIKTEE, AN"D THE GRAVE. 

"If a man die, shall he lire again?" — Job. 

Wintry ! wintry ! dreary weather ! 
On earth's frozen bosom gather 

Cold and icy shapes of death. 
Thro' the heavens the storms rave boldly, 
E'en the friendly stars blink coldly: 

Life and hope gasp short for breath. 

Cheerless ! cheerless ! gloomy weather ! 
Death and life have met together, 
Warring fiercely with each other: 

(148) 



WINTER AND THE GRAVE. 149 

O'er the surface death is riding, 
Life beneath is warmly hiding, 
In the nursing earth — its mother. 

Hopeful, hopeful still, though cheerless; 
Let our waiting eyes he tearless; 

See the sun rise higher, stronger — 
He will warm earth's torpid powers. 
Spring will bring us life and flowers. 

Death will reign o'er life no longer. 

Sleeping, sleeping, dead and dreary, 

In their graves, earth's wanderers weary 

Rest in hope and free from pain : 
See dark Winter's fate foretoken 
How death's slumbers shall be broken. 

And the dead shall live again. 
13* 



CHKIST THE LOVELIEST. 

"He is altogether lovely."— Soua of Solomon. 

Lovely is evening's soft twilight; 
Lovely is heaven's meek starlight; 
Lovely are flowers in the sunlight — 
But Christ is the loveliest of all. 

Loving is father and mother; 
Loving is sister and brother; 
Loving are friends to each other — 

But Christ is more loving than all. 

(150) 



CHRIST THE LOVELIEST. 151 

Love on the eartli 

What is purest and nearest — 
Love that above 

Which yOur faith can see clearest — 
But oh ! love your Saviour, 

The tend'rest and dearest; 
For He is most loving, and loveliest of all. 



BEHOLD THE MAN! 

(John xix. 5.) 

See the Saviour, meek and mild, 

"Holy, harmless, undefiled," 

Bro't, by hearts o'ercharged with gall, 

Into Pilate's judgment-hall ; 

Hear the fiend-like, murd'rous cry: 

"By our law He ought to die." 

See Him in the judgment-place — 

Eyes of love and lips of grace ; 

Through the trial's wretched sham, 

God-like, beautiful, and calm. 

Answering to the charge they bring: 

"Sir, thou sayest, I am a king." 

(152) 



BEHOLD THE MAN! 153 

See Him, while malicious ire 
Kindles in their eyes of fire ; 
See Him, while they rage and cry: 
"Away, away, and crucify — 
To the cross the traitor bring, 
Csesar is our only king." 

See what now the king adorns — 
Cursed, cruel crown of thorns ; 
Purple robes, and bended knee. 
Mock His royal Deity, 
While rude shouts around Him ring: 
"Hail! all hail! thou Jewish King!" 

See, He bends beneath his woes. 
Thick they fall, th' insulting blows ! 
While they smite, no murmuring word 
From His sacred lips is heard; 
Vainly, to the cruel clan, 
Pilate saith: "Behold the man!" 



154 POEMS. 

See Him bear tlie shameful load 
Up the malefactor's road, 
While the ever-deep'ning gash 
Takes anew the scourger's lash! 
Lamb-like sufferer, who cau, 
Calm, unmoved, " Behold the man ! " 

Stand, my soul, w^here Mary stood, 
See them plant the dreadful wood! 
See, thy God, thy Sacrifice, 
Hangs upon the cross, and dies ! 
O salvation's wondrous plan ! 
Let the world "Behold the man! 



TOLLII^G! TOLLIl!TG! 

The bell ! it tolls ! 

How heavily it rolls 
Its solemn, mournful cadence on the ear! 

It tells us that some mortal 

Is borne toward the portal 
Of the grave, upon a bier. 

Who's dead? O say! 

Whom do they bear away 

Slow to the muffled music of the bell ? 

A father or a mother? 

A child, a sister, brother? 

Who is it? Can you tell? 

(155) 



156 POEMS. 

Enough — we know 

That hearts are pierced with woe — 
Their heavy, heavy sorrow let us share. 

Whoe'er it be that's borne, 

Some hearth is left forlorn. 
Vacant some dreary chair! 

Was he — say ! — 

Whom they now bear away — 

Was he a child of God ? an heir of Heaven ? 
Then peaceful are his slumbers. 
He has joined the happy numbers 

Of those who are forgiven. 

Or does it toll 

For some unransomed soul, 
Whom death hath from his earthly idols 
torn ? 

Hark, the sad, tolling bell: 

'Twere better, says each knell. 
If he never had been born ! 



SPEAK GENTLY.i 

Speak gently to thy father, 

He giveth thee thy bread; 
His toils have earned the pillow 

Which nightly rests your head. 
The home from which you bound at morn, 

To which at night you hie, 
He won with many a weary stroke. 

With many a weary sigh. 

1 Long after this little poem had been written — never to his 
knowledge before — the author met with the popular song which 
is so much like this as readily to suggest the idea of imitation.- 
If it has any connection with its senior brother, it must be the 
fruit of an impression made on the mind by that song, of which 
the author was not in the least conscious at the time this was 

14 ( 157 ) 



158 POEMS. 

Speak kindly to thy mother; 

She blest your infant sleep; 
She watched your " dawn of little joys," 

With feelings fond and deep; 
And as you grew in size and years, 

She still was by your side, 
To chide your faults, allay your fears — 

A gentle, tender guide. 

Speak gently to thy sister — 

How pure her love to you ! — 
You'll never find a love on earth 

So constant, chaste, and true. 
She meekly hears your little griefs, 

And weeps when you are sad; 
She nourishes your little joys. 

And smiles when you are glad. 

written. If such is the case, it may stand here as an illustra- 
tion of a very mysterious power of memory, and of the way 
in which impressions may lie latent in the mind. If the idea 
is original, it may show how the same general conception 
may be formed independently in different minds. 



SPEAK GENTLY. 159 

never ! in that circle bright, 

Of home's most hallowed joy, 
Let one unkind, ungentle word, 

The reigning peace destroy. 
Speak as you think bright angels speak, 

Or saints, in realms above, 
"Where no discordancies disturb 

That happy home of love. 



OUR SCHOOL-BOY DAYS. 

Our school-boy days ! our school-boy days ! 

How kind the joy they cast 
Upon the heart, as thoughts of them 

Come glimmering o'er the past; 
They come as come the joyous gleams 
Of sweet but half-forgotten dreams ! 

Our school-boy days ! our school-boy days ! 

They come but once in life; 
But we look back with smiles upon 

Their struggles and their strife — 

As echoes of a pleasant lay 

Charm when the song has died away. 

(160) 



OUR SCnOOL-BOY DAYS. 161 

Our school-boy days ! our school-boy days ! 

There's magic in that sound ; 
It calls our young companions up, 

And sets them smiling round, 
With all their little hopes and fears, 
Their little joys, and little tears. 

Our school-boy days ! our school-boy days ! 

Life looked all sunshine then ; 
How longed our young, ambitious hearts. 

Impatient to be men ! 
But have we found, in life's rough ways, 
The joy we lost with school-boy days? 

Our school-boy days ! our school-boy days ! 

Adieu ! — in your bright bowers, 
Fond memory shall while away 

Life's later, heavier hours — 
Still humming o'er the pleasant lays 
Of school-boy's happy, happy days ! 

14* L 



JOY. 



Seek not the joy that warbleth 

Like an airy, sportive song — 
The joy that lightly danceth. 

Like the laughing rill along ; 
But seek the joy that swelleth 

Like the organ's gravest notes, 
That like a river rolleth 

"Which heaviest burdens floats. 

(162) 



JOY. 163 

!N"ot joy that post-haste rideth 

Along like latest news; 
It but a moment bideth, 

Like morning's transient dews: 
The deep heart never feeleth, 

!N"or owns its passing power; 
But seek the joy that calmeth, 

Like evening's thoughtful hour. 

Seek not the joy that flasheth 

Like a crazy meteor's light, 
Along the dark empyrean, 

In the solemn dead of night; 
But seek the joy that kindleth 

Like morning's glowing sky. 
That lights the dreary earth beneath, 

The glorious heaven on high. 



MATINS AND VESPERS. 



Pray in the morning hour — 

Grace, like the light and dew, 
Is richest on the spirit shed, 

When thoughts are fresh and new. 
The rising sun lights up the heavens 

Before he shines below; 
So first on God, and then on earth. 

Your raorniug thoughts bestow. 

(164) 



MATINS AND VESPERS. 165 

Pray in the evening hour — 

Grace, like the golden light, 
That opens when the sun is set. 

Will smile upon the night. 
The light still lingers on the sky, 

When all is dark below; 
So last on God, and not on earth, 

Your evening thoughts bestow. 



DYING. 



Can this be death 
That paints my cheeks a deadly pale? 

Say, is this death? 
My eyes stand still, my senses fail — 

Sure this is death! 
The earth, till now so fair and bright, 
Recedes before my dim, dim sight — 

I know 'tis death ! 
Like one who, weary of the light, 
Desires to sleep ere it is night. 

And courts repose. 
So now across my senses creep 

The power and charm of early sleep; 

(166) 



DYING. 167 

And fainter, feebler, slower gi^ows 
My pulse — tell me, who that knows, 
Is not this death ? 

This must he death — 
Is it not death ? Is it not, say — 

This feeble breath? 
This eb?jing of my strength away — 

Is not this death? 
It comes like evening's kind repose, 
While twilight shadows round me close — 

Sure this is death. 
All objects fade in viewless air, 
And leave no trace or ima^e there : 

I know 'tis death ! 
****** 
My eyes now gain their power once more, 

But see not what they saw before ! 
I sink — I rise — 'tis night — 'tis day! 
My spirit x^lumes to leave its clay — 
Oh, this is death I 



MAY IS comi:n^g. 

May is coming, 
Green, green May. 
What a creeping forth, so cheerful. 
Somewhat timid, tho', and fearful; 
Birds and buds, first slyly peeping, 
Then into the sunlight creeping. 
Warm themselves to-day. 

May is coming. 

Blooming May. 

Hail, sweet time of early flowers. 

Fresh as childhood's rosy hours ! 

(168) 



MAY IS COMING. 169 

Almost do I wish — though vain — 
That I were a boy again, 

'Mid the flowers to play! 



May is coming, 

Tuneful May. 
Insects, warmed, begin their humming. 
Tell the time of music coming: 
Joy, and peace, and hope are beating 
Sweetly in the heart, repeating 

Love's soft, mellow lay. 

May is coming, 
Cheerful May. 
Can it be there will be dying? 
Will the winds, with mournful sighing, 
Ever blight a scene so cheerful, 
Leaving it all sad and tearful, 

In its last decay? 
15 



170 POEMS. 

Autumn's coming, 

By-and-bye ! 
Storms are in the distance looming, 
Frosts will blight what now is blooming. 
Oh ! let rosy youth remember, 
May must yield to bleak September, 

We, like grass, must die ! 



OUK SAVIOUR'S ADVENT. 

"We have seen bis star in the east." — The Magi. 

Dark was the dreary night of sin, 

"Which o'er Judea hung; 
Upon the altar, pale and dim. 

The ofi'ering lingered long. 
While not a spark from heaven appeared 

To start the sacred flame ; 
AVhere God was once devoutly feared, 

They feared Him but in name. 
Before cold, Pharisaic pride. 
The life of Israel's worship died. 

(171) 



172 POEMS. 

The Essene, with gloomy face, 

In caverns sought his God; 
The Sadducee, with polished pace, 

In halls of pleasure trod. 
At festal boards he gayly bowed, 

And sumptuous feasts he gave; 
But hung a cold and cheerless shroud 

O'er all beyond the grave. 

Some pious Jews, with faltering pace, 

Still sought the Sacred Hill; 
But in Judea's holy place, 

The oracle was still. 
In vain they look'd, with wistful eyes ; 

Devotion's flame grew cold — 
There burned not there the sacrifice, 

As it had burned of old. 

" What of the night?" the watchmen cried, 
With loud and earnest voice: 

^'The morning comes!" a voice replied, 
"Behold it, and rejoice!" 



u 11 saviour's advent. 173 

Then o'er Judea rose the light 

Of Bethlehem's bright star: 
Shepherds beheld it in the night, 

And wise men from afar. 
Behold, He comes ! the promis'd King, 
While men rejoice and angels sing! 



15* 



OH! VALUE THE HOUR AS IT 
HASTETH. 



Oh ! value the hour as it haste th, 

Like a post on its way; 
It only is yours while it wasteth, 

JtsTot yours when 'tis wasted away. 
The moment that's past — is past ever, 

The future will come — perhaps never; 
The present is yours — not forever, 

But just while it hasteth away. 
V (174) 



oh! value the hour. 175 

The days of your youth and your childhood, 

Have been — are no more ! 
Like gay, singing birds of the wild-wood, 

Gone when the summer is o'er. 
So short a life — dost thou abuse it? 

The hast'ning hour — dost thou use it? 
Eemember, ere long thou wilt lose it, 

For see how it hasteth away! 



NEW YEAE'S MID:tnGHT. 



I. 

Twelve ! twelve ! twelve! 'Tis twelve o'clock; 

Shrill, shrill crows the watchful cock; 

Tick ! tick ! tick ! goes the mantel clock. 

Slow, slow, solemnly, 

Swings the pendulum; 

And the moments come — 

Come, come, silently, 

Go, go, steadily, 

At each swinging to, to — fro, fro — 

Of the pendulum. 

(176) 



NEW year's midnight. 177 



II. 

Come, come, come, seek a genial berth, 
Close, close up to the blazing hearth; 
Whilst round, round rolls the wintry earth, 
And the stars, stars, brightly, 
With the moon, moon nightly, 

In their courses move; 
All keeping, telling time. 
With a kind of mystic rhyme ; 
For the universe of shining, rolling spheres, 
Is a vast and wond'rous clock, as it appears. 

Grand, and broad, and deep, and high 

Made to measure ages by; 

And upon its dial face 

God, and men, and angels trace 
Times and seasons, as they go, go — come, 

come — 

As they go and come. 
M 



178 POEMS. 



III. 



List ! list ! list ! Softly creep the years along, 

Grey, grey, grey hairs grow my hair among. 

Shadows lengthen, and life's evening-time 
Comes, like the autumn sere, 
Comes nearer every year; 

I soon shall hear its vesper chime. 

Every swinging to, to — fro, fro — 
Of the pendulum : 

Every change of times and seasons as they 

run — 

As they go and come — 
ITearer brings the moment ever. 
When for me all years forever 

Shall have come and gone. 



THE SONG OF THE TREES. 



Trees, trees, trees — 
how many trees ! 

They cover o'er the mountains, they skirt the 
vales and leas; 

They make the wide, wide forests, that roll 
like mighty seas. 
I've often sat and pondered 
Beneath their shade, and wondered 
That the poets, fond of singing. 
Have not set the woodlands ringing 



"With the song of trees. 



(179) 



180 POEMS. 

Trees, trees, trees — 
ye slighted trees ! 
Gladly would I now become a poet, should you 

please 
To send me inspiration upon the pleasant 
breeze. 
Let the storms that thundering roll 
From the forest on my soul. 
And the wind that joys and grieves, 
As it gently lifts the leaves, 
Sing me of the trees. 

Trees, trees, trees — 
Every kind of trees. 
Little tiny, tiny shinibs, and huge, tremendous 

trees ; 
Some bend before the zephyr, some bear the 
storm with ease ; 
Various as are human faces. 
Useful, pretty in their places ; 



THE SONG OF THE TREES. 181 

Love we not the humblest, smallest, 
Ever as the proudest, tallest 

Of these pleasant trees ? 

Trees, trees, trees — • 
Young and growing trees. 
How tender is the leaf, and how smooth the 

bark of these ! 
In long and icy winters their tops do often 
freeze ; 
The cattle break and clip them ; 
The worms oft bore and nip them ; 
Fresh to-day and crushed to-morrow ! 
Often have I looked with sorrow 
On these struggling trees. 

Trees, trees, trees — 

Ancient, mighty trees. 

I feel like taking off my hat whene'er I meet 

with these ; 

They are often hung with mosses, and are liol- 

low for the bees. 
16 



182 POEMS. 

By day the sap-bird's drumming, 
And by night the hoarse wind's humming, 
Maketh music low and lonely, 
Which is nowhere heard, save only 
In the song of trees. 

Trees, trees, trees — 
The fruit-bearing trees; 
How many rich varieties are all around of 

these ! 
They charm the eye and tempt the taste of 
every one who sees ; 
How the fragrant blossoms blow ! 
How they fall like flakes of snow ! 
And the fruit, so red and yellow. 
Hangs luscious, ripe, and mellow, 
Smiling on the trees. 

Trees, trees, trees — 
Cool and shady trees; 



THE SONG OF THE TREES. 183 

Amid the quivering heat, when there scarcely 

stirs a breeze, 
How grateful to the weary the shadow is of 
these ! 
Round the spring or round the pump, 
They are nestled in a clump ; 
And the leafy, bushy mass. 
Throws its shadow on the grass — 
Bless the shady trees ! 

Trees, trees, trees — 
Rehearse the song of trees ; 
Arrange yourselves in choirs, ye forests and 

ye leas, 
And swell the mighty chorus, till it soundeth 
like the seas. 
Joy-notes for the sighing bring. 
Dirge-notes for the dying sing; 
Breathe, ye zephyrs, soft cantations; 
Roll, ye storm-winds, jubilations — 
Swell the song of trees. 



THE OSTEICH. 

The ostricli loves the desert deeps, 

All lone, and drear, and dry; 
Where the wind rolls up its drifted heaps 
Of sand against the sky. 
In regions such as these past ages did locate 
The awful homes of spirits reprobate ! 
And that fearful note 
From the ghostly throat 

Of this desert bird — 

(184) 



THE OSTRICH. 185 

As it doth rebound, 
Witli terrific sound, 
From the desert ground, 
And at night is heard, — 
Hath over my listening spirit cross'd. 
Like the wailing woe of a spirit lost ! 



THE TWO PKOPHETS. 

Youthful life a prophet is — 

Like the early prophets 
In the Holy Book; 

It turns toward the future 
With too bright a look: 

In its happy wishing 
For the better days, 

It hears not friendly voices 
That warn it of its ways. 

( 186 )• 



THE TV/0 PROPHETS. 187 

Dazzled by the promise, 
It heeds the warning less, 

Forgetting that tlie lips that warn 
Are the lips that bless. 

Aged life a prophet is — 

Like the later prophets, 
Mounting as they go, 

O'er the wrecks of glory, 
Through the reigning woe. 

In the evening twilight, 
'Mid the evil days. 

Age laments the errors 
Of its youthful ways. 

Had it loved the caution more, 
And the promise less, 

It had found how warning lips 
Are the lips that bless. 



THE SWALLOWS. 

Ye call to mind my childhood days, 
Ye chattering, twittering .birds ; 

Ye call to mind my father's ways, 
My mother's looks and words. 

Ye call to mind the work and play 

Of many a pleasant summer day. 

I see you skim the meadow o'er, 

With many a turn and bound — 

Zigzagging in the clover-fields. 
And the old barn around; 

The heart-holes in the gable — whew! 

Tweet ! — like an arrow ye are through ! 

(188) 



THE SWALLOWS. 189 

Xow on the apex of the roof, 
Te bowing, chattering sit ; 

Say, is yonr talk reproof, or love ? — 
A wheedle or a twit ? 

But all is o'er — ye cannot stay — 

A downward swoop — away, away ! 

Returning now, what have you found? 

A worm ? — the fattest, best ? 
Yes, see, a row of hungry mouths 

Lie open round the nest. 
The feast is short — cries, as before. 
Send you in haste to seek for more. 

Ye come to us with opening Spring, 

When violets appear; 
Ye leave us when the chill winds bring 

The Autumn, brown and sere; 
But in our mem'ry mirrored lie 
Sweet thoughts of you, that never die ! 



190 POEMS. 

Still call to mind my childhood days, 
Ye chattering, twittering birds ; 

Still call to mind my father's ways, 
My mother's looks and words. 

Still call to mind the work and play 

Of many a happy summer day. 



A COIsTFIRMATIOIT HYMIST. 

"Will ye also go away?"— St. John, -vi. 65. 
I. 

Oh, what crowds the Saviour leave ! 
Oh, what hearts His Spirit grieve ! 
Hark ! He asks us all to-day : 
"Will ye also go away?" 

II. 

Many have professed to be 

Faithful till their Lord they see; 

But have found the downward w^ay; 

"Will ye also go away?" 

(191) 



192 POEMS. 



III. 



Many at His altar bowed, 
Ate and drank, and wept and vowed ; 
]!!^ow, how fallen I — Satan's prey : 
"Will ye also go away?" 

IV. 

Think of dark Gethsemene, 
Think of bloody Calvary; 
Think of what you vow this day: 
"Will ye also go away?" 



Oh, the pardon bought with blood 
Oh, the peace and heavenly food. 
In His Church, for those who stay 
"Will ye also go away?" 



A CONFIRMATION HYMN. 193 



VI. 

Friends on earth, and saints above, 
Compass you with hope and love — 
Father, Son, and Spirit say: 
"Will ye also go away?" 



A HYMK 



I. 



Jesus, my Shepherd, let me share 
Thy guiding hand. Thy tender care; 
And let me ever find in Thee, 
A refuge and a rest for me. 

II. 

Jesus, lead me by Thy side, 

Where fields are green, and waters glide! 

And be Thou still, where'er I be, 

A refuge and a rest for me. 

(194) 



A HYMN. 195 

III. 

"While I this barren desert tread, 
Feed Thou my soul on heavenly bread ; 
'Mid foes and fears Thee may I see, 
A refuge and a rest for me. 

IV. 

Anoint me with Thy gladdening grace, 
To cheer me in the heavenly race ; 
Cause all my gloomy doubts to flee, 
And make m}^ spirit rest in Thee. 



V. 



When death shall end this mortal strife, 
Bring me through death to endless life; 
Then face to face beholding Thee, 
My refuge and my rest shall be. 



THE BEIQHT LAISTD. 



" We went into the graveyard. I had Wilsie on my arm. when I stood at 
the graves of our dear babes, and when he saw me weeping, he put his arms 
round my neck, and his face close to mine, as if he would comfort me." — 
FfiOii A Private Letxek. 



I. 

We are told that there lies a bright world 
beyond this, 

Hid now from our sight: 
That it bathes in the soft, mellow beamings 
of bliss, 

And knows of no night! 

(196) 



THE BRIGHT LAND. 197 

'Tis the land of the sainted — the Home of the 

Blest, 
Where the sinful are pure, and the weary at 

rest. 

II. 

Through the valley of death lies the wonderful 

way 

Which leads to that Land; 

And Jesus Himself guides the pilgrims, they 

say. 

With affectionate hand. 

They pass through the valley, and reach the 

blest plain, 
Where they dwell with the angels, and weep 

not again ! 

III. 

The gate of the way which leads on to those 

climes, 

They say is the tomb : 

17* 



198 POEMS. 

A spot in the churchyard, that opens at times, 

To take pilgrims home ! 
The flowers that bloom there, the willows that 

wave, 
Make hopeful and peaceful this gate of the 

grave. 

IV. 

I strayed to this spot; for my own infant band, 

Called off to their rest. 
Had gone by that gate to the beautiful land 
Of the pure and the blest. 
I saw where they entered; for a few vernal 

showers 
Had not covered the gate with the grass and 
the flowers. 

y. 

They are gone! — And I wept; but the tear- 
drops that fell 

For those gone to rest, 



THE BRIGHT LAND. 199 

Caused the heart of my boy with new fondness 

to swell, 

As he leaned on my breast. 
He embraced me with love, whilst his eyes 

seemed to say: 
" The Bright Land is their home who pass off 

by this way!" 

IV. 

Oft in visions by day, and in dreams of the 

night, 

I watch at that gate: 

While faith shows me much that I learn not 

by sight 

Of the glorified state. 

I call not my babes from the bliss that I see, 

Only wait at the gate till it opens to me. 



A BUD. 

A BEAUTIFUL child, 

In form tender, 
In aspect mild; 

Thanks to the Sender, 
Said the parents, and smiled 
On the beautiful child. 

Soft lustre and light 
Beam from its eyes. 

Meekly and bright: 

So dawns from the skies, 

On the wanderer's sight, 

Sweet morn out of night. 

( 200 ) 



A BUD. 201 

O joy to the child, 

So young and tender, 
So meek and mild ! 

Thanks to the Sender, 
Said the parents, and smiled 
On the beautiful child. 



THE SUMMEE VISIT. 



Wife and the little folks, 

Going away, 

Sometime to stay. 

Get the trunk and pack it, 

Press it full and rack it. 

Make the clothes go in — 

No, you can't begin; 

Trunk is full and more, 

And yet upon the floor 

There is enough 

Of dressing stuff — 

I know before I ask it — 

To fill a bag and basket. 

(202) 



THE SUMMER VISIT. 203 

Wife and the little folks, 



'} 



Going away, — 
Starting to-day. 
Going ofi* to grand-pa's, 
Going oft' to grand-ma's, 

Laughing all, and glad, — 
Why should they be sad? 
'Tis a year and more, 
Since they went before; 
'Tis very right, 
And a delight — 
Yea, it is quite exquisite — 
To go home on a visit. 

Wife and the little folks, 

All gone away, 

Five weeks to-day ! 
Wish I had gone likewise, 
Lonely staying this wise. 

But I can't go now — 

Hard it is, I vow ! 



204 POEMS. 

What a doleful house ! 
Hark ! — 'tis but a mouse ! — 
Seems so queer, 
'No one is here. 
'Tis for noise I pine and sigh — 
Want to hear the children cry ! 

Wife and the little folks 
Coming to day — 
Made a good stay! 
Think I see the little chaps, 
Think I hear their knocks and raps — 
Rushing in and out, 
Looking all about. 

Think I see my wife, 
Bringing joy and life. 
Hark ! — a fuss — 
The omnibus. 
Come, ye looked-for earthly blisses, 
ISTow a half-a-dozen kisses ! 



GREAT EFFECTS FEOM LITTLE 

CAUSES. 

Where the Savannah wends its lazy way — 

Five hundred years ago, 
An idle Indian, on a summer day. 
The tedious hours in hunting whiled away, 
With flinty dart, and bow. 

Up started from the copse an agile deer : 
The whizzing arrow sped 
Swift as the wind ; but, missing clean and clear, 
Was hurled into a tender sapling near. 
And buried to its head. 
18 (205) 



206 



POEMS. 



Then many moons and seasons came and went, 

And centuries rolled around ; 
The sapling grew a tree ; and covered was the 

rent, 
While in the oak's deep heart the arrow pent 
Lay in the hidden wound. 

The white man came and felled the mighty 

tree, 

As timber for a ship: 

The noble vessel built, 'twas joy to see 

The swan-like thing of beauty plow the sea, 

Bound on an eastern trip. 

Full half-way round the globe, it met a gale — 

Fierce was its sudden sweep 

The arrow-wounded plank was first to fail, 

And men and treasures, 'mid the storm's wild 

wail. 

Sunk in the dismal deep ! 



CAUSE AND EFFECT. 207 

Thus each effect hangs on its distant cause — 
How joined we may not see ; 

But great events unfold by hidden laws ; 

And he who on a deer his arrow draws, 
May sink a ship at sea ! 



COLD DISTANCE. 

Relieved against the quiet sky, 
Before me in the distance lie 
A range of mountains, blue and high, 
In dignity serene. 

How well defined, and smooth, and cold. 
Like metal fashioned in a mould. 
They lift their brows, unmoved and bold, 
And wear almost a frown ! 
(208) 



COLD DISTANCE. 209 

I draw more near, and then I see 
The life and joy of flower and tree, 
And hear the cheerful minstrelsy 

Of waterfalls and birds. 

In nook and dell, what love and cheer ! 
For now a thousand charms appear, 
To please the eye, enchant the ear, 
By distance hid before. 

'Tis thus with men we daily meet 
In public marts, and on the street, 
And silent pass, or coldly greet — 

Statues of men they seem. 

But yield we to the social law. 
And nearer to our fellows draw, 
What as a statue cold we saw,- 

Is full of life and love. 
18* 



PIOUS FRIEITDS. 

The stars that nightly shine above our head, 

Illume our path when brighter day is gone ; 
But not in them exists the lovely light they 
shed — 
They only shine as they are shone upon ; 
And so the loves that greet us here below, 
Are lights in life's dark home to cheer and 
bless. 
When warm and bright themselves with holy 
glow 
From Jesus Christ, the Sun of Righteousness. 

(210) 



BIRDS OF PREY PROHIBITED AS FOOD. 

When birds of prey are by the Lord forbid, 
And not to Israel allowed as food — 

Methinks there is in this the wisest lessons hid, 
By them, perhaps, not fully understood. 

The Lord would teach them thus to dread and 

hate 

The spoiler, and the preying life he leads ; 

Lest they, by loving him, should in their hearts 

create, 

"With fondness for the prey, a hankering for 

his deeds. 

(211) 



212 POEMS. 

The Lord designed His people should pursue 
The husbandman's and shepherd's quiet way ; 
By wise restraints of law He thus their taste 
withdrew 
From barbarous and uncertain wanderings 
after prey. 

And thus did Israel learn to love the quiet vales, 
Where fruits and flocks their honest labors 
blessed. 
In healthful toil, amid fresh scenes of rural 
peace. 
They lived devout on earth, and sought in 
Heaven their rest. 



THE GOOD STOKK. 

I PRAISE thee, good stork, from my heart; 

Thou art such a true, pious bird; 

My spirit within me is stirred 
To practice thy dutiful art. 

So true to thine offspring when young — 
Good food for thy nurslings to bring; 
To bear them, when weak, on thy wing, 

And die to protect them from wrong. 

(213) 



214 POEMS. 

So kind to thy parents when old — 
By them in their dotage to stand, 
As taught in the holy comniand: 

To thy praise, pious stork, be it told. 

So true to thy partner in life — 
Faithful and firm to the last, 
Your fortunes together are cast, 

Till death ye are husband and wife. 



I praise thee, good stork, from my heart ; 

Thou bearest a pious, good name. 

Not thine is a mere empty fame, 
For truly a good bird thou art. 



THE POOE DEUKKAED. 

Oh ! give him not the bowl, 

That cruel drink of death! 
Think of his deathless soul : 

Hear what Jehovah saith — 
And let that word thy warning be — 
"^o drunkard shall my kingdom see." 

Oh ! give him not that drink 
Which helps his soul to die! 

But draw him from the brink, 
And win him for the sky; 

Or will you give him still the bowl 

That wrecks his body, damns his soul ! 

(215) 



216 POEMS. 

Oh ! give him not that cup, 

He is thy fellow-man ; 
Then rather hear him up, 

And save him, if you can. 
He craves — he raves — he begs — and why 
"Will you assist his soul to die? 

Then give him not the bowl: 

Or will you give it still? 
Then on your guilty soul 

Shall burning woes distil ! 
Look at your skirts ! — be well aware — ^ 
His blood — his blood — his blood is there ! 



DEDICATION OF AK ALBUM. 



To afford me true delight, 

On these pages pure and white. 

Friend, I pray thee, only write 

What is good and what is true, 
- Joy to me and praise to you. 
Have you thoughts, oh ! write them not, 
Which, when dying, you would blot? 

19 (217) 



218 POEMS. 

Write me thoughts that shall be dear 
In some lonely after-year, 
Whether read through smile or tear. 
In the hour when memory roves 
Over past and perished loves. 
Only holy thoughts can shed 
Light where hope and joy are fled 
With the absent and the dead ! 



STANZAS. 



Lady. Will you please write in my album? 
The Poet. Certainly, with pleasure, fair lady. 



"When, in festive days, 

Music sweet we hear, 
Lingering long, the pleasant lays 

Still carol in the ear: 
We live again the happy time, 

By listening to their after-chime. 

(219) 



220 POEMS. 

So, wlien we have joyed 

With those who won our love, 

We cherish still their fragrant names 
Where'er we rest or rove ; 

And any relic borne away, 

Will cheer some cloudy after-day. 

Then give me from your heart 
Some earnest, cheerful line ; 

And write beneath your name, 
To show that it is thine ; 

Then here's my hand — good-bye, good-bye, 

A heaving heart and a tearful eye ! 



EPILOGUE. 



WRITTEN FOR THE ANNIYEKSARY OF THE DIAGNOTIAN SOCIETY OF 
JIARSHALL COLLEGE, JULY 2, 1847 



The storm is over now — the livid glare 
Of learned lightning vanished in the air ; 
The poesy eloquent, and lofty prose, 
Have died, as bustle dies at daylight's close ; 
IlI^ow, as the joyous earth, refreshed by showers. 
Smiles out in greener grass and sweeter flowers, 
So may, our hearts refreshed, our minds more 

free, 
Breathe purer air — with brighter vision see. 

19* (221) 



222 POEMS. 

It was a stern discliarge — the firing keen, 
With waves of stirring music rolled be- 
tween. 
The odds were fearful, too ; see, but a few 
Upon a phalanx of some hundred drew, 
' With wordy vengeance ; but we hope no 
slain, 
Or wounded, shall upon the field remain. 
If any by deep sleep were shot, please 

wake 
And move them, for the cause of learn- 
ing's sake. 
As to the exercises just now closed, 
'Twere vain for me to censure or to praise. 
Since things strike different minds in different 

ways. 
One calls this eloquent; another, rant; 
One calls tJiat flowery ; another, cant ; 
What one calls logical ; . another, dry ; 
One loves to plod, another loves to fly. 



EPILOGUE. 223 

Some think that words can do it ; sonae think 

sound ; 
And some think gestures sharp, or smooth, or 

round ; 
Thus, what is beautiful and what is crude, 
Finds thousand answers in a multitude. 
The golden lines that tinsel hill and tree. 
Are in the prism found through which we see ; 
And often spots which dark before us rise, 
Are in our glasses found, or in our eyes ! 
'Tis thus, the fable tells, that once of old 
The people thought their eyesight failed : they 

came. 
Complaining much, to Jupiter, and asked 

that he 
Might give them glasses, so that they might 

see. 
Now Jupiter spread o'er the heavens a cloud. 
From which he thundered angry, long, and 

loud ; 



224 POEMS. 

At last it rained — so does the fable tell — 

And spectacles of every color fell ! 

Clear, green, and yellow, purple, red, and 

blue. 
Came tumbling down — 'twas wonderful to 

view! 
O'erjoyed, the people now promiscuous ran, 
To take the gift thus sent from Jove to man ; 
And soon astride each nose, with ease and 

grace, 
A pair of spectacles had found a place ! 

But now the trouble came — a dreadful 

fight 
Arose among them as to scenes and sight. 
As to the color even of a house or tree, 
IsTo two of all the crowd could now agree. 
One looked, and leaping high for joy, cried 

out: 
"All things are red! How red the trees 
about ! 



EPILOGUE. 225 

The fields are red, and dark Olympus red, 
And red the skies, your faces, and your 
head!" 
"No ! no ! " another cried, "■ all things are black 
As pitch, or like the traveller's midnight track ! 
The stars are black — the ocean black as ink! 
Your faces black as Moors" — just only think! 
"Not so," exclaimed a third, "all things are 

blue!" 
"No, they are yellow," said a fourth. "Not 

true," 
Yelled out a fifth: "of purple — glorious 

dye! — 
Is earth, Olympus, sea, and air, and sky!" 
Thus they disputed, and to fighting went 
At last; and many words and blows were 

spent 
To ascertain who had the better right 
To make his glasses standard of true 
sight. 



226 POEMS. 

And thus they fought, till they removed, 

by blows, 
The colored spectacles from every nose ; 
And then it was agreed, with one consent. 
The glasses had their color to the object 

lent. 
Agreed, the color of the earth and sky 
Depended on the glasses, or the eye ; 
And that the man who thinks his glasses 

best. 
Is only of his error dispossess'd. 
When controversial knocks dismount his 

nose 
Of colored glasses. So the fable goes. 

From this we all may learn, and clearly see, 
That if in judging we shall e'er agree, 
'Twill be because we have before agreed 
On glasses quite from ev'ry color freed ; 
And this will only be when gentle blows 
Of thought in conflict, take from ev'ry nose 



EPILOGUE. 227 

The colored glass — then we shall clearly see, 
Through truth's pure medium, all things as 

they be. 
But how, you ask, shall we this medium find, 
Through which to see each object, well defined? 
Your question shall be answered — just attend 
To laws in ISTature, on which sights depend. 
"When colors of the rainbow all unite, 
They form one medium, clear, and pure, and 

bright. 
Here just the same, you'll find it ever true — 
If mental glasses, made of every form and 

hue, 
Are fused together in one solid cake, 
'Wq can from it the clearest glasses make : 
Glasses by which no colors will be thrown 
Upon the object, but what are its own. 

Thus let the general judgment always be 
The medium through which the truth you see. 



228 POEMS. 

It is not meant, by these remarks, at all 
The critic's eager judgment to forestall; 
no ! ye knights of genius ! on the tiipod 

placed, 
To speak in oracles of sense and taste — 
Cut deep, strike hard, and give a deadly thrust, 
But know the color of your glasses first ! 



THE i:n'teemediate abode. 



SEE ! a gloomy, awful world is this 
Where spirits are detained. 'Tis half a heaven 
And half a hell ! What horrid mixture here ! 

1 see before me, and along the edge 

Of rayless night, on either side, the shades 
Of spirits move — as yet unjudged, undoomed, 
And unrewarded. Some do seem to hope ; 
Some sit in gloom ; some walk in dark suspense ; 
Some agonize to change their state. say ! 

Is this all real, or fancy and a dream ? 

20 (229) 



EEMEMBEAITCE OF EAETH IN 
HEAVEN". 



When once we close our eyes in death, 

And flesh and spirit sever, 
When earth, and fatherland, and home. 
With all their beauty, sink in gloom — 
Say, will it be forever? 

Shall we in Heaven no more review 
These scenes from which we sever? 

Or shall our recollection leap 

O'er death's dark gulf, at times, to keep 
With earth acquaintance ever? 

(230) 



REMEMBRANCE OF EARTH. 231 

In life we love the blessed part, 

It clings upon us ever; 
The songs of childhood and of home, 
Like music, when the minstrel 's gone, 

Live in our hearts forever. 

The child's included in the man. 

And part of him forever; 
The Past ev'n in the Future lives, 
And basis to its being gives, 

'Not it — but of it — ever. 

Thus shall we still in Heaven review 
These scenes from which we sever; 

Oft shall our recollection leap 

O'er death's dark gulf, nor cease to keep 
With earth acquaintance ever. 



THE CEISIS. 



I HAVE watched the drops of rain — 
Clear drops of rain, that to the eaves hung fast, 

Pure drops, without a soil or stain : 

I knew their tremulous hanging could not last; 

Yet did they hang, till softest breeze swept 

past. 

When down they fell, 

And, sad to tell. 

Were one with mire and bubbles in the pool 

below. 

(232) 



THE CRISIS. 233 

have watclied the thistle-down — 
The soft, white thistle-down — that hung 

On leaves by Autumn's frosts made brown — 
Hung hooked with tiny grasp, hung fast and 

long, 
Till softest air that played the leaves among. 
Bore it away — 
Behold ! it lay 
A drenched and floating wreck, upon a dull, 
dark pond. 

I have seen a tender youth — 
A youth erst bound in heart by sweetest ties — 

By sweetest ties to God and truth : 
Who seemed for honor made, and made to rise, 
Till subtle evil came, in smooth disguise — 
Came with a smile. 
Came dark and vile. 
Came with its lurings, and its blast of death ! 
20* 



SMOKIira SPIEITUALIZED.i 



IN THREE PARTS. 



The First Part being an old meditation upon smoking Tobacco : 
the Second, a new addition to it, or improvement of it: the 
Third is added by the Author. 



PART I. 

This Indian weed, now wither'd quite, 
Though green at noon, cut down at night, 
Shows thy decay; 
All flesh is hay — 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. - 

1 " This poem, the Second Part of which was written by Mr, 
Erskine, is here inserted, as a proper subject of meditation to 
smokers of tobacco." 

(234) 



SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED. 235 

The pipe, so lily-like and weak, 
Does thy mortal state bespeak. 

Thou art even such, 

Gone with a touch — 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

And when the smoke ascends on high, 
Then thou behold' st the vanity 

Of worldly stuff. 

Gone with a puff — 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

And when the pipe grows foul within, 
Think on thy soul defil'd with sin ; 

For then the fire 

It does require — 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

And seest the ashes cast away; 
Then to thyself thou mayest say. 



236 POEMS. 

That to the dust 
Return thou must — 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 



PAKT II. 

"Was this small plant for thee cut down? 
So was the Plant of great renown ; 

Which mercy sends 

For nobler ends — 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

Doth juice medicinal proceed 
From such a naughty foreign weed? 

Then what's the power 

Of Jesse's flower? — 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

The promise, like the pipe, inlays, 
And by the mouth of faith conveys 



SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED. 237 

What virtue flows 
From Sharon 8 rose — 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 



In vain th' unlighted pipe you blow ; 
Your pains in outward means are so. 

Till heav'nly fire 

Your heart inspire — 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

The smoke, like burning incense, tow'rs ; 
So should a praying heart of yours. 
With ardent cries, 
Surmount the skies — 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 



PART III. 

Unpleasant first the weed appears. 
But by degrees itself endears; 



238 POEMS. 

So hateful sin 
Allures us in — 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

The taste, as every smoker knows, 
Still stronger with the habit grows; 
So wrong desires 
Are growing fires — 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

But once for aye you can employ 
The self-same weed you now enjoy; 
So life you spend 
But once can end — 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

Ere you can smoke the fragrant weed. 
Its preparation must precede ; 
So all our good 
Cost pains and blood — 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 



SMOKING SPIKITUALIZED. 239 

Your smoking wants each day return ; 
So must your heart in longings burn 
For grace to die, 
And rise on high — 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 



FIRE AT HAMBURG, AKD THE OLD 
BELL-PLAYER. 



The correspondent of the New World closes an interesting 
account of the recent conflagration at Hamburg (1842), with 
the following thi'illing incident: " You all know that, in the 
most of the German and Belgian towns, the church-steeples 
are provided with musical bells, which play once or twice a 
day, generally at twelve o'clock, and in the evening. The 
church of St. Nicholas, too, was provided with such a set of 
musical bells ; and the bell-player, an old grey-haired man of 
seventy, was either too infirm, or unwilling to quit the stony 
castle from which he had been for years calmly watching the 
tide of men below. No one thought of the poor guardian of 
the house of God until the steeple was wrapped in fire, and 
the firm walls that had stood for ages began to shake ; when 
the bell sounded the well-known German choral that usually 
concluded the Protestant service: "Now thank ye the Lord" 
(Nun danket alle Gott). Another moment — a crash! — bells 
and musician were buried in the same fiery grave! — the bell- 
player stood before his God ! " 

(240) 



FIRE AT HAMBURa. 241 

A BURNING city ! — Hamburg is on fire ! — 
Towers, temples, courts, and lofty halls of state, 
As wrecks half seen lie in the fiery sea. 
The red horse leads the host to battle now, 
With hungry sword of flame. From roof to 

dome, 
From dome to spire, in majesty and might, 
The fiery courser leaps, and treads the strong 
To earth; while in dark clouds his blasting 

breath 
Ascends toward the lowering heavens ! 

1^0 w, hark ! 
The anxious cry of "help" is heard around. 
Distracted looks are seen, and fervent prayers 
Are said. And there is hurrying off for life. 
Yet looking back — as did the wife of Lot, 
"When God consumed the cities of the plain — 
Because their hopes, their homes, their all is 

there ! 

Poor hopes that perish thus — unworthy homes 
21 Q 



242 ^ POEMS. 

So easily destroyed. Shame ou that all 
Which flames consume ! — as said the pious 

bard: 
"He builds too low who builds beneath the 

stars." 

Oh ! what an bour was that, when on the quiet 

air, 
Through street and lane, echoed the dreadful 

cry — 
"Fire! fire! fire!" From mouth to mouth, 

from ear to ear. 
Like instant thought, the loud alarum flew ; 
"While tower awakened tower with deep-toned 

knell. 
Till busy echo, with its thousand tongues. 
Brought to each ear the stifling cry — " fire ! fire !" 

In halls of guilty mirth now ceased the dance ; 
And Jubal's giddy sons laid down in haste 



FIRE AT HAMBURG. 243 

The maddening shell. JSTow quick the curtain 

dropped 
O'er beauty's pride. The sparkling wine-cup 

fell, 
Just as the fiery bubbles poised to break, 
With new-refreshing floods of sin and death, 
Upon the waiting lip ; and sinful joy 
Like angry serpents struck, with spirits flagg'd, 
Retired. And there were frantic looks, and 

hands 
That shook, and eyes that wept, and cheeks 

that lost 
Their blood ! For 'twas as if the dreadful 

God, 
As at Belshazzar's feast profane of old, 
Spoke Mene Tekel to their guilty souls ! 

Long from thy godless fanes, Hamburg ! rose 
Stench for th' Almighty's nostrils. Thy altars 
oft. 



244 POEMS. 

Like Hiiinon's bloody vale, sent up to heaven 
The smoke of dark, forbidden rites. But He, 
Who from his lofty seat looks down, to watch 
The play of little man, sleeps not. He shows 
His silent presence in the city vast, 
As in the lowly cot. Mysterious are 
His ways ; yet by the humble rightly read. 
His love abused, doth often turn to wrath ; 
But ever, too. His wrath, if meekly borne. 
And penitently met, is turned to love. 
Wouldst thou, Hamburg! rightly read the 

frowns 
Which darken now a Heavenly Father's face ? 
Attend a parallel in humble life. 

A tender mother, with a joyous breast, 
Bends o'er her first, her lovely, smiling babe. 
Oh ! what a wreath of love grows round her 

heart, 
As, day by day, she sees new beauties dawn : 



FIRE AT HAMBURG. 245 

The varying lights and shades of flesh and 

blood 
Upon its face : those lovely orbs in which 
The light without meets greater light within, 
When, like the dawn of morning out of night, 
The first self-consciousness illumes the soul. 
Then first upon the mother's vision opes 
The joyous world, in all its sun-bright charms. 
A sense of beauty, joy, and love, as from 
A new-created world, stirs in her soul. 
Canst feel, in smallest part, her blessed joy? 
Canst fancy how she loves that gem from 

Heaven ? 
Canst think that worlds would buy that angel 

pledge? — 
Bright mirror that reflects the sacred bliss 
Of early, tender love ! Canst feel with her ? 
See how she lays its glowing cheek to hers. 
And, in a mother's fondest language, says : 
''This, father, is our own, our only child!'" 

21* 



246 POEMS. 

Mysterious God ! The moment when these 

words 
Are scarcely said, that cheek is cold — those 

eyes 
Stand still — that face is pale — that baby smile 
Fades instant, like the rosy blood from cheeks 
Of happy ones, when greeted with sad news ; 
And death — cold death — sits shivering on its 

brow ! 
In that sad honr of woe and tears, there comes 
From God, in whisper to that mother's heart, 
" I love you and your child. Come, kiss the 

hand 
That took your fondest hope away." That 

babe — 
Her god ! — had chained its mother's heart to 

earth. 
And there was none for Him. He kindly took 
It to Himself, that she, her idol gone. 
Might set her heart, bereaved, on things above; 



EIRE AT HAMBURG. 247 

And there herself and it most truly find. 
Said He not well: "I love you and your 
child"? ' 



'Twas the same love, disguised in fiery wrath, 
"Which lit, Hamburg ! thy devouring fires ; 
And, could you hear it, from the raging flames, 
Which turn to ashes all you worshipped, loved, 
A kindly voice from Heaven comes, which 

says : 
"I love you still. Cease now from man, from 

wealth. 
From earth and sin, and own there is a God !" 

But now I mind me, there were holy men 
Still found within thy walls, proud capital ; 
And one at least had never bent his knee 
To Baal. Like holy Anna, when the Christ 
Appeared, he in the sacred temple dwelt. 
Upon his head the snows of seventy years 



248 POEMS. 

Have spent their bleaching power. From his 
high home 

In yonder tower, with many thoughts devout, 

The aged saint has watched, through tedious 
years. 

The restless tide of human life below ; 

"Well has he learned the madness of the world; 

Long has he preached, with tongue of wide- 
mouthed bell. 

At morn, at noon, and in the silent eve. 

The value great, and solemn flight of time ; 

And, rolling solemn chorals on their ears, 

E'en in the midst of worldly din and noise, 

To silent piety men's hearts attuned. 

In vain ! The worldly crowd swept madly on ! 

i^ot so this saint and sage. Well does he 
know^ 

How earthly treasures, e'en while worshipped, 
fade. 

And wisely sent the cargo of his hopes 



FIRE AT HAMBURG. 249 

Before him to the safe eternal port ; 

And waits but for a friendly heaven-ward 

breeze 
To bear him to his treasures and his rest. 

Behold ! the fire feeds on St. Mcholas, 

In whose grey tower he dwells ! The angry 

flames 
Begin to lash the spacious dome ! The walls, 
Whose hoary might through ages have with- 
stood 
The battling of the storm, the silent wear 
Of time, begin to tremble, like the sides 
Of Etna, pregnant with internal fire. 
In that dread, anxious hour, forgotten is 
The pious guardian of the house of God, 
Till — hark ! — as oft before, those well-known 

bells, 
In sweetest strains, roll on the startled air 
The old, familiar German choral hymn : 

ITUN DANKET ALLE GOTT ! 



250 POEMS. 

]^un danket alle Gott — 

The Lord of earth and Heaven ; 
To Him, by every tongue, 
Be praise forever given. 

Our souls may well confide 
In God, our guard and guide; 
He will our wants supply 
Through life, and when we die. 

I^un danket alle Gott — 

He loves His needy creatures; 
That love is still the same. 

Though wrath o'erclouds His features ! 
Sweet light and love divine 
Behind His judgments shine : 
As richest rainbow dyes 
Are seen in darkest skies. 

^un danket alle Gott — 

Come, fire ! — thou bed of roses ! 

Be thou my body's grave — 
My soul in Christ reposes. 



FIRE AT HAMBURG. 251 

I bless His holy name 
Amid this fire and flame ; 
I sink — I die — I live ! — 
Oh ! what a sweet reprieve ! 
Nun danket alle Gott! 



Crash ! crash ! — the walls have fallen ! The 

bells ceased ! 
The tower sunk in that sea of fire ! And 

while — 
Like angels leaving, but by love detained — 
The echoes of that choral hymn — the last — 
Still whiles with sweet delay along the hills, 
The holy man who played the bells is gone ! 
His ashes mingled with the molten flow 
Of his beloved bells, with whose last tones 
Of truest worship, up his spirit rose, 
Soon as his final Hymn, to meet his God ! 
As last on earth, so first in Heaven, he sang : 
Nun danket alle Gott! 



THE HIDIFG-PLACE. 



A man shall be as an hiding-place from the wind, and a covert from the 
tempest. — Isaiah xxxii. 2. 



I. 

Jesus, to Thy cross I hasten, 

In all weariness my home; 
Let Thy dying love come o'er me — 
Light and covert in the gloom 
Saviour, hide me, 
Till the hour of gloom is o'er. 

( 252 ) 



THE HIDING-PLACE. 253 

II. 

"When life's tempests wild are rolling 

Fearful shadows o'er my way; 
Let firm faith, in Thee sustain me, 
Every rising fear allay. 

Hide, oh ! hide me. 
Hide me till the storm is o'er. 

III. 

When stern death at last shall lead me 

Through the dark and lonely vale ; 
Let Thy hope uphold and cheer me. 
Though my flesh and heart should fail. 
Safely hide me 
With Thyself forevermore. 



22 



TO AFE'A. 



Do you ask a wish, Anna — 

Some happy wish from me? 
Let me think, and well combine 
All I wish, in one short line : 
'Tis my wish that you may be 
Holy, happy, heavenly ! 

Take this as my Wish, Anna. 

( 254 ) 



TO ANNA. 255 

Do you ask advice, Anna — 

Some good advice from me? 
'Tis that you in faith abide 
Closely by your Saviour's side; 
Like Him, harmless as a dove. 
Live to labor and to love. 

This is my Advice, Anna. 

Do you ask a prayer, Anna — 
A pastor's prayer from me? 
'Tis that you may never stray 
From the narrow, heavenly way; 
But in safety reach that shore 
Where they part and die no more. 
This your pastor prays, Anna. 



ELEGY 01^ THE DEATH OF A CLASS- 
MATE. 

Fa*iewell ! farewell ! thy earthly work is done. 
Thy sands have ebbed their last. The hour 

has struck. 
Thy bark's unmoored. The last returning wave 
Dies on the shore you leave — and thou art 

gone. 
Safe home ! — I wave thee yet this last adieu ! 

'Twere fitter thou shouldst weep for me, than I 
For thee. Thou art the living, I the dead ! 
Thy toils are o'er ; thy cumbrous load of clay 

(256) 



DEATH OF A CLASSMATE. 257 

1^0 more shall weary thee ; passion, disease, 
Temptation, and unholy thoughts, no more 
Shall make thee weep. Ambition's wily voice 
Kg more to thee shall whisper wicked things, 
Hold thee until the hour is late, in lone 
Communion with thy books, and, vampire-like. 
Gorge on thy health, till thou art but a wreck. 

Thy seat is empty now; thy voice is mute ; 
Thy room is lone; thy lamp no more sends out 
Its sickly, flickering ray, at midnight hour, 
"With fitful flash, into the drowsy gloom. 
Thy books have rest, e'en as thyself. 

Sleep on. 
The grave is dark, but harm disturbs not there. 
Death called thee soon. Thy life was morning 

yet; 
Thy joys were young; thy fears were few. 

The dew 
Of orient life yet freshened in thy heart 

22* 



258 POEMS. 

In sunny hopes ; and it seems hard so soon 
To die ! Yet sweetest far is morDing sleep, 
And lightest morning dreams ; and ere the 

rust 
Of sin can blight the spirit's early bloom, 
The favored season is to plume for Heaven. 

And yet my heart feels dole that thou hast 

left! 
There is a void, as in a tree, when winds 
Have robbed it of a branch. How doleful is 
The vacant space ! — and memory ever strives 
To see it as it was, but strives in vain ; 
Yet mourns the ruin with a sad delight. 
Though thou art in the grave, where dust to dust 
Returns — still, in the silence of the night, 
When moon and stars look radiant love from 

heaven, 
I'll watch with them thy lonely grave, and sigh 
To think that thou art gone. 



DEATH OF A CLASSMATE. 259 

Rest, rest in peace ! 
I would not call thee back ; for what is life 
But prelude sad to death ? Earth mocks our 

hopes ; 
We only smile that we may freer weep. 
"Whene'er we love we find a hidden wound, 
When what we love is lost. We meet to part; 
But — blessed hope ! — we part to meet again. 



A Christian thou ! Ah ! this, thy dearer name, 

Is full of melody; and by this name 

'Tis sweet to say adieu ! For death to thee 

Was but the way to life — a nearer way 

Thy early death ; as Vv'hen a traveller. 

By heat and burden pressed, lays down his 

load. 
And sweetly dreams himself in sleep away 
To where bis journey ends. Oh ! passing sweet 
Must be the Christian's sleep ; soft his re- 
pose ; 



260 POEMS. 

Holy his dreams — bright dreams of heavenly 

bliss, 
That will not vanish when the morning comes. 

Adieu ! adieu ! friend of my heart, adieu ! 
The kindly angels guide thee on the way: 
The bright assembly of the saints at home, 
And He, thy God, thy everlasting rest, 
Keceive thee to the land of hope fulfilled. 



CHILD'S CHRISTMAS HYMK 



Long- ago, 
A little child, 
Meek and mild, 

Came from Heaven. 

It was Jesus : 

At an inn, 

In Bethlehem, 

He was born. 

(261) 



262 POEMS. 



It was night 
In winter time ! 
The wind's sad chime 

Was heard around. 



His cradle 
Was a manger; 
But no danger 

Came to Him. 



Hosts of angels 
Hailed His coming, 
Sweetly humming 

Christmas hymns. 

His kind Mother 
Watched His cradle, 
In the stable 

Where He slept. 



child's CHRISTMAS HYMN. 263 

Jewish shepherds 
Heard the story, 
Saw His glory, 

And were glad. 

Heathen sages 
From afar, 
Saw His star, 

And brought Him gifts. 

Gentle Jesus, 
I will bring Thee, 
I will sing Thee 

Christmas hymns. 



THE SOKG OF THE EILL. 



I. 

Give me answer, if you will, 
Whither goest thou, little rill? 
Leaping, laughing, night and day. 
Like a happy child at play. 
Cooling here the parched tongue; 
E-unning there the herbs among, 
"With a gurgling, babbling flow. 
Ever cheerful as you go. 
" Through the meadow, field, and wood. 
On my mission, doing good." 

(264) 



THE SONG OF THE RILL. 265 



II. 

Busy wanderer, going still: 
jN'ow it turns the heavy mill — 
Now upon its bosom wide 
Puffiug boats of commerce ride. 
First it spoke in murmurs low, 
"Doing good — for this I flow." 
Now the deep, the rolling flood, 
Echoes louder, "Doing good." 

III. 

In the ocean's trackless deep 
Idle will its water sleep? 
No ! on sunbeams rising high, 
Cloud-borne floats it on the sky. 
And, in rain descending, yields 
Blessings to the parched fields. 
On the grass and flowers strewed. 
In rills gathered, doing good. 
23 



266 POEMS. 



IV. 



Thus, as erst, it speeds away, 
Sports again like childhood gay, 
Babbling, singing, as it should, 
"On my mission, doing good." 
O that he who his life long 
Idles time, would catch its song; 
And, like it, become a flood, 
Earth to bless by doing good ! 



TRANSLATIONS. 



(267) 



TRANSLATIONS. 



HYMN OF BENAVENTUEA, 

[from the latin.] 

I. 

Make tlie Cross your meditation, 
All who long for full salvation: 

Joy in it for evermore. 
Look up to the Cross and love it, 
There is nought on earth above it — 

Oh, forget it nevermore ! 
23* (269) 



270 TRANSLATIONS. 



II. 



Toiling, resting, smiling, weeping, 
Glad or mournful vigils keeping. 

Comforted or sorrowing: 
Going, coming, ever raise it 
To your faith. ; and, whilst you praise it, 

Joy from it be borrowing. 

III. 

In sore trial and affliction, 
Think of Jesus' crucifixion. 

Drawing comfort from the Cross ; 
Seek its blest relieving power 
In each dark, distressful hour, 

For its gain count all things loss. 

IV. 

By Thy Cross, suffering Son, 
Our lost Paradise is won — 

By Thy death the faithful live; 



HYMN OF BE^'AVE^'TUR A. 271 

From Thy life come virtues, stealing 
O'er the world, vdth richest healing — 
Wond'rous iov Tliv Cross can 2:ive ! 

V. 

Cross of Jesus ! — vital curing, 
Light of truth and peace enduring 

For our souls are found in Thee; 
Treasuiy filled, and failing never, 
"WTience our souls mav draw forever 

Grace to perfect pietv. 



VI. 

Mirror of the soul, reflecting 
Holy light and power perfecting, 

Cheering, strengthening steadily ; 
To the saints bv it is eiven 
Glorious aid in winning Heaven, 

Furnished freely, readily. 



272 TRANSLATIONS. 



VII. 



Cross ! thou tree of purple blooming, 
Best of balm is tby perfuming — 

All thy fruit with grace is rife; 
Millions on this fruit have flourished, 
Millions now by it are nourished 

Fitted for the heav'nly life. 

VIII. 

Jesus ! O Thou crucified ! 
Jesus ! who for me hast died ! 

Praise, praise for Thine agony ! 
Clinging to Thy Cross, and sighing 
O'er my sins, and o'er Thy dying, 

I am wholly lost in Thee ! 



THE LORD'S PRAYER. 

[from the GERMAN OF KLOPSTOCK,] 

Round planets moons are circling, 

Planets round suns; 
And all suns are rolling 

Round one grand sun — 
Our Father who art in Heaven! 

On all these planets, opaque and radiant. 
Dwell spirits in forms and powers unlike ; 
But all rejoicing and praising our God — 
Hallowed be Thy name. 

S (273) 



274 TRANSLATIONS. 

He, the exalted one. 
Who alone Himself doth fully know, 
And fully in Himself rejoice — 
He the deep plan conceived 
Which offers Heaven to all — 
Thy kingdom come. 

Well for all, that not they, but He, 
The present and the future rules. 
Well for all — well for us: 
Thy will be done on earth, 
As it is in Heaven. 

He on the stem sustains 

The bending ear; 
He makes the golden apple ripe — 

The purple grape. 
He on the hills prepares the grass 

For tender lambs ; 
He in the gloomy woods doth feed 

The hungry deer. 



THE lord's prayer. 275 

But He, too, rolls fierce thunder, 

And doth send the hail. 
lie, too, the harvest blights, and breaks 

The graft with golden fruit — 
Give us this day our daily bread. 

Say, are there, above the thunder's path. 
Mortals and sinners found? 
Can His wrath be turned to love. 
Or will it bear us down to death? 
Forgive us our debts. 
As WE forgive our debtors. 

Divided paths lead on towards the goal — 

Toward eternal blessedness. 
Some, curving, lie through solitudes; 
Yet even on these fresh joy doth bud 

Beside the lonely way; 
And living waters cool the thirsty lip. 

Lead us not into temptation; 
But deliver us from evil. 



276 TRANSLATIONS. 

We worship Thee ! 
Who round the central Sun dost lead 
Harmonious Suns, and Earths, and Moons ; 

Who spirits didst create, 

And didst create their bliss; 

Who dost sustain the kindly fruits; 

Who makest sinners dead to live; 

Who scatterest hope and joy- 
Along the path that leads to Thee; 

We worship Thee ! 
For Thine is the Kingdom, 
And the power, 

And the glory, 
Forever, 

Amen! 



THE EAGLE. 

[from the LATDf.] 

How well the tawny chief of birds, whom 

thundering Jove selects 
To bear his armor when in war, his tender 

young protects ! 
He cherishes, with anxious heart, his unfledged, 

strengthless brood, 

And brings them daily from the chase, fat wild 

meat as their food. 

24 (277) 



2T8 TRANSLATIONS. 

Soon as their downy-feathered wings with age 

increase their strength, 
And milder air and spreading plumes invite 

them out at length, 
He takes them, timid, on his back, with kind 

parental care. 
And spreads his wings triumphantly across the 

fields of air. 
Though fearing for his burden, his pinions 

move like oars 
Or bending sails, as up from earth toward the 

clouds he soars : 
Still onw^ard, to the deeps above — still on 

through rarer skies. 
Still on, toward the place of stars, on rapid 

wing he flies; 
And proudly now, in circling sweep, he sails 

'mid upper light. 
Then sinking back to earth again, he trains 

his brood for flight. 



THE EAGLE. 279 

Thus tutored by parental skill — their pinions 

taught to dare — 
They learn, with fond and fearless wing, to 

trust themselves to air. 
Thus from this bird may parents learn to train 

the young with care. 



OUR IlTATIVE LAND. 

[from the FRENCH.] 

We pilgrims on life's toilsome way, 
Are pressed by ills on either hand; 

But sorest is his state and stay, 

"Who's exiled from his l^ative Land. 

In favored hours, soft, balmy sleep 

May o'er his grief its wings expand ; 

But when he wakes, he wakes to weep 

His absence from his ITative Land! 

(280) 



OUR NATIVE LAND. 281 

Forgetfulness the exile seeks, 
But vainly, on a foreign strand; 

Of home and friends his memory speaks, 
And fresh recalls his J^ative Land. 

With generous soul, and noble heart. 
He may each fear and foe withstand; 

Yet secret loyal tears will start — 
Brave tribute to his Native Land! 



24* 



AT THE GEAVE OF MY FATHER. 

[prom the GERMAN OP CLAUDIUS.] 

Let peace around this tombstone be — 
Sweet peace of God. Ah ! they have laid 
A good man here beneath this shade ; 

And more than good was he to me. 

Blessings he shed on me like dew ; 

He guided me like a mild star 

That shines from better worlds afar; 

Ah ! no reward can pay his due. 

(282) 



MY father's grave. 283 

He fell asleep ! They laid him here ; 
Mildj sweet assurance comes from God, 
And breathes blest fragrance o'er this sod, 

That heals the sorrow, stills the tear. 

And here he rests, from trouble free, 
Till Jesus with a smile shall call 
His dust. Oh ! he was good to all — 

And more than good was he to me. 



THE GEAYE GIVETH KEST. 

[the FAVOHITE GERMAN HYMN, " IM GRABE 1ST RUH'."] 

The grave giveth rest. 
There, weary ones, weighed down with sorrow. 
In slumber shall borrow 

The peace of the blest. 

There sleeping, the heart. 
By cares and temptations unshaken. 
Shall rest; and awaken 

Where sorrows depart. 

(284) 



THE GRAVE GIVETH REST. 285 

To death's frieDdly shore, 
They come not, life's ills — dreary number ! — 
We reach it through slumber, 

And pain is no more. 

Then bear your unrest, — 
And yield not to sorrow and sadness; 
But sing on with gladness. 

The grave giveth rest. 



THE END. 



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